


Dish Brothers ~ 1930 ||My Cuphead Drabbles||

by freelance_writes11



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: 1930s, Adventure, Best Friends, Boys Will Be Boys, Brother Feels, Brotherhood, Brotherly Bonding, Brothers, Cartoon Physics, Cuphead & Mugman - Freeform, Cute Kids, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Mischief, My First Work in This Fandom, No Smut, One Shot Collection, One of My Favorites, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2020-09-29 08:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 88,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freelance_writes11/pseuds/freelance_writes11
Summary: What are two kids to do after taking that devilish gamble, walloping the Prince of Darkness, and freeing an entire overworld from damnation? Keep being kids, of course! Cuphead and Mugman may be the heroes of Inkwell Isle, but they’re still boys who love to play, explore, and get into trouble.





	1. Fragile {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up, Cuphead didn’t truly understand the concept of “learning your own strength” until it costs Mugman and eventually himself a few injuries along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter acts as an introduction in order to segue into the following stories that take place after the boys have defeated the Devil and freed everyone.

**JUNE 1926**

For the Elder Kettle, describing his boys as imaginative seemed like an understatement. From the moment he was able to call them his own up until they could string together actual words around their babbling speech, there wasn’t a time when either little cup couldn’t find something to do.

Like now, for instance.

Every other second the pair would get super close to each other, nose-to-nose, then collapse on their backs in a giggling fit and see which one could get up the quickest. Whoever was the last to sit up had to chase the winner around the den, and once they were tagged, they started all over again. Elder Kettle had no idea what to call their game, but it was harmless enough.

He chuckled as the two staggered around on their wobbly legs before having to resort to crawling. They hadn’t yet mastered balance, but boy were they fast on all fours as opposed to two. He watched them play for a couple minutes, his eyes drooping every now and then to have a brief moment’s rest…

Only to be startled out of his rocking chair by the sound of his youngest’s cries. The tan kettle’s attention quickly went to the tot in blue, who was bawling his eyes out while his brother gently shook his shoulder, uncertain of what to do.

“_Shh, shh._ Come here, my boy.” He scooped his little one in his arms, doing his best to lower the volume of his cries. “It’s all right, I’m right here. Cuphead, what happened?”

Cuphead didn’t know how to put it in his own words, and the stare from his caretaker wasn’t helping. “Mug…hurt.”

“Yes, but how did he get hurt? Do you know?”

Once again the tiny cup couldn’t explain. He fiddled with his gloves, avoiding the kettle’s eyes as his own filled with anxious tears. “We, w-we fall…”

It was at this point Elder Kettle noticed a chip in Mugman’s handle. It was a small enough nick that could be fixed in seconds, and he presumed the child’s cries had stemmed from being startled when he fell and not from any pain the minuscule chip could have caused. Still, he’d gotten hurt nonetheless. Taking Cuphead in his other arm, the kettle headed for his room, knowing all his boy needed was a bit of porcelain touchup and some glue.

“Everything will be okay,” he spoke softly along the way, Mugman’s cries having quieted to whimpers. “You’ll be better in no time, I promise. It’s okay.”

It would take maybe a day or two for the crack to fade, and Elder Kettle made sure to tell the two not to play as rough next time once the patch work was done.

“Cuphead”—He spoke to the child quietly yet sternly, seeing as how Mugman didn’t want to leave the comfort of the elder’s arms just yet—“you have to be more careful next time. Your brother isn’t the only one who’s fragile. I don’t want either of you getting hurt whenever you play. Will you be more careful next time?”

While he couldn’t understand the entirety of the grownup’s words, Cuphead knew deep down he didn’t want to make his brother cry again. So he nodded, truly meaning it, and earned a hug from the grandfatherly figure as well as an expected sense of trust for the future.

* * *

**MAY 1929**

“_Eight…Nine…Ten!_ Ready or not, here I come!”

Mugman shielded his eyes under the glaring summer sun, searching for the tiniest shade of red that would give his brother away. The particular season, while not always his favorite due to the heat and active bugs, proved to be just as energetic as him and Cuphead. With the schoolhouse letting out, there was no limit to what the brothers could do in those couple of months off. Visiting the fun-fair, camping out in the woods, splashing at the pier…

It truly would be one summer to remember.

Mugman didn’t spot Cuphead in any bushes or behind the large stumps around the forest, but he soon spotted the brown leather of one of his boots peeking out from behind a tree. Seeing this gave the mug a clever idea.

“I know you’re out here somewhere!” He called out, pretending to walk off and making sure his footsteps were quiet enough so he could circle around the targeted tree. Once he was at a good distance, he got a running start and with a loud “gotcha!” tackled his brother to the ground.

Or so he thought.

Mugman landed on his stomach, seeing that it was only the boot that had been hiding. Cuphead wasn’t there. He scratched the side of his head and stood up, confusion filling him by the second.

“_Gotcha!_”

It was Cuphead’s turn to shout the word and Mugman’s turn to actually be tackled to the ground. He shouted as the both of them rolled in the grass, the sound of the little cup’s laughter echoing as he pointed in amusement at his brother’s expression.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” Cuphead exclaimed.

Splotches of red steamed onto Mugman’s cheeks as he dusted off the grass and dirt clinging to his shorts. He jumped up, arms crossed tightly to his chest.

“That wasn’t funny! You really scared me!”

“I couldn’t give my hiding spot away, so I had to trick you. Am I the best hider ever or what?”

“No fair. That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

With his shoe back on, Cuphead stood and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Okay, okay. Let’s have a rematch. You wanna hide this time?”

“No.” Cuphead’s puzzled face made Mugman’s grin slowly return, and he quickly nudged his arm before running off. “I wanna run this time! Tag, you’re it!”

“Oh, and I did a rotten trick?” Cuphead laughed out these words and chased after the younger mug. “Get back here, you little cheat!”

A raspberry was blown back at him. “Gotta catch me first, slowpoke!”

A minute or two of the switched game passed, Cuphead being the slightly more agile sibling able to catch up with his younger bro easily − for a second. He hadn’t expected Mugman to make a sharp turn to climb over a log to avoid being tagged, causing him to nearly run into a tree.

“Playin’ dirty, huh?” The red cup called out, speeding up. He clamored over the log and tugged Mugman backwards by the handle. “I don’t think so! Now you’re it!”

Cuphead leapt over the fallen piece of wood, laughing once more at his victory, and glanced over his shoulder at one point to offer more lighthearted teasing. He blinked when he saw that he wasn’t being chased, and for a second he thought Mugman was planning his own sneak attack.

“C’mon Mugs, I hid first! You can’t copy me!” When he didn’t get a response, he grew a little worried. “_Heh_, you’re not gonna pop out the ground, are ya?”

Still nothing.

“Mugs?” Cuphead hesitantly inched forward, looking around for blue. “Mugman?”

He peered over the log, failing to look down until a faint sniffle got him to do so. Mugman was trying to sit up after having been tugged and landing flat on his back, and was palming around the back of his head. Cuphead’s eyes widened when he realized what he was trying to find.

A part of his rim had been broken off, currently wedged in the log like an odd decoration. What really gave him a fright was the tiny puddle of liquid dripping on the grass, and the same substance stuck to Mugman’s gloves when he couldn’t immediately find the injury.

Once he did, however, he froze in place and the panic drained the light out of his eyes.

He was in Cuphead’s arms no sooner had he found the fracture, being carried at top speed through the forest to get back home. Cuphead had no second thoughts to how loud his entrance was − kicking open the door like some kind of madman − and didn’t react to Elder Kettle’s scoldings of entering the house so wildly.

The second he saw an injured Mugman, his mouth shut tight and the glue and touchup were instantly brought out.

Over the past four years, Cuphead had dealt with his own scratches and chips from rough play and childish pranks, but never had he seen a slash like this. And on his own brother, too! Something like this had happened when they were but little sippy cups, not knowing any better.

“Cuphead, what happened?”

Elder Kettle had asked him the exact question in a much different tone. Back then, he knew the cups were still grasping the knowledge of how to speak, so he hadn’t expected them to give fully detailed responses to whatever he said. Now that they were older, not only could they speak for themselves, but they understood right from wrong.

“We…we were…” And yet whenever his habitual troublemaking tendencies got him the usual scoldings, Cuphead couldn’t fully look the elder in the eye. “We were in the woods playing tag, and…I pulled Mugman back. But I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know he hit his head!”

“Cuphead.” Elder Kettle sighed. He felt like the phonograph in the den whenever the needle got stuck on the same track, repeating itself again and again. “I’ve warned you about being careful many times, haven't I?”

“I-it’s okay Elder Kettle,” Mugman stuttered out. “We were just playing.”

“I know, and believe me when I say that I love it when you boys play. You’re so imaginative and active with your games, and it makes me happy that you’ve got each other for company. But you’re hurt because you’ve played a bit too rough this time. You may think it’s okay Mugman, but you wouldn’t want your brother getting hurt like this, would you?”

The boys remained quiet, their personalities dissimilar but their current thoughts alike:

_No, I don’t want to see him hurt._

* * *

**MARCH 1933**

Ever since he could remember, Cuphead had always embarked on adventures with no destination. Only curiosity of what was ahead moved him, and rarely would a sense of regret or apprehension invade his usual fearlessness.

This time was not the case.

The shadows of the Devil’s beating were on his skin and heart, and the fact that he’d put his and Mugman’s lives in danger all because he had been so greedy broke something in him. Something that would remain long after his glassware healed.

One wrong step had the cup in the perfect path of the Devil’s hand, which cracked loudly across his face, snapping it back with the force of the blow and causing his head to violently reel backwards as it slammed into the wall behind him.

Mugman couldn’t give him full attention, as he was focused on the set of purple imps running about. “Cuphead! Are you okay?”

Cuphead wasn’t thinking when he let out his boiling temper and swung his fist out, rapid shots of magic from his fingertips snapping towards their adversary’s eyes. An avalanche of violence trampled down on both brothers, the pair eventually stumbling back for a brief moment to catch their breath.

“No, I’m not.” The disheveled dish finally answered the minute-old question and cast his gaze to the ground, his voice sounding more pained than anything. “Mugman, I…I am so sorry. For everything. I haven’t been the fairest brother. I’m always picking on you, getting in trouble, fighting with you. But I…”

Cuphead had no other way to express the amount of guilt and terror in his heart, and even if he could, he knew the Devil wouldn’t give him a chance to. Adrenaline surged so fast through his body it almost made him vomit. He could feel his throat closing up, and beads of sweat trickled down his bruised rim from both the hellish heat and situation before him.

At some point he’d have to move. He’d have to face his literal demons and atone for his foolish actions. Putting a hand to his knee, Cuphead forced himself back up and willed his legs to stop trembling. He had to keep going so his brother wouldn’t get hurt anymore.

He _had_ to.

“Cuphead”—Mugman’s arm to his shoulder helped steady his balance, his hand in his own slowly settled his conscience, and his determined smile gave the cup a new sense of courage—“no matter what, I’m always gonna be by your side. We’re pals. Now let’s finish this together.”

Where such spirit had come from, especially after grueling hours of begging and brawling and nearly breaking, Cuphead had no idea. But he’d be a fool to not heed his brother’s words. They were going to defeat the Devil. They were going to set everyone free. And they were going to return home, hand-in-hand, brother and brother.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine that even though the boys are seen as roughly twins, Cuphead is the oldest and is about nine or ten, while Mugman is around seven or eight. So in the beginning they’re toddlers and in the next segment they’re respectively six and four. I plan on writing chapters that focus on just Cuphead, just Mugman, or a combination of both of them along with a few side characters. Feedback is always welcome, and I don’t mind requests − so long as they’re appropriate.
> 
> Thanks for reading! ❤️ 💙


	2. Spooky Stories {Cuphead & Mugman} 1/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Elder Kettle gives the boys permission to camp out behind their house, Cuphead decides it’s the perfect time to tell spooky stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve split this into two parts so I could figure out a proper ending. I’ll publish the second part tomorrow. Thanks for reading! ❤️ 💙

The flames of the small campfire crackled and licked at the overturned stones surrounding them, sending out just enough heat and light to reflect off the back of the tiny cottage. A thick darkness had fallen fast upon the isles, leaving behind a black canvas with no stars or the moon.

Brisk air swirled around Mugman, trying to steal any bit of warmth it could. He wrapped his blanket tighter around himself, cocooning in the material and tucking his chin downward. His breath was barely visible in front of the campfire’s glow, or it could've been the smoke. He wasn’t sure.

What the little mug was sure of was how tired he was getting.

Sleep was coming, he could feel it. Any second now his head would start drooping…the crackling of the fire would grow quieter…his consciousness would swirl with the beautiful chaos of a new dream—

“_Boo!_”

“_**Uwah!**_”

Mugman scrambled to his feet at the feel of someone’s hands gripping his shoulders, and instincts told him to ready a magic shot despite his whole body shaking. When the focus returned to his eyes, he heard… Laughter?

Cuphead was sprawled on his back, sides split from the reaction he’d gotten. “I’m sorry buddy, I had to!”

“Cuphead!”

“What? You were dozing off. You can’t fall asleep yet.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I was…blinking a long time.”

Cuphead slowly nodded, unconvinced. “Gee, didn’t know you snored when you blinked. Don’t you only snore when you’re asleep?”

“I don’t…!” A wide yawn interrupted the denial. “Okay, maybe I’m a little tired. But I don’t snore! Besides, we’ve done everything we could think of − playing hunt, hide-and-seek, chess. We even swam in the lake. What else is there to do?”

Cuphead shook his head,_ tsk_ing under his breath like his brother should know better. Rummaging under his own blanket, he took out two flashlights, rapidly clicking them on and off before putting them under his face, grinning wickedly as the bright beams stretched the shadows beneath his eyes.

“We can’t go to sleep without telling a few ghost stories first.”

Mugman’s pulse picked back up. “G-ghost stories?”

“Yeah. You know, like the ones we were told when we were little?”

Having been so small, Cuphead often got those types of memories mixed up. Most of the stories the boys had been told were often based on warnings from Elder Kettle to stay out of mischief, or redundant tales to move children towards good behavior from strangers who had children of their own. Never had the two been purposely scared − at least, that’s what a majority of adults on the isles hoped for whenever they’d launch into their folklore.

Mugman knew he was a bit more jumpy than Cuphead, and he’d been told numerous times by Elder Kettle that that was okay. One day he’d grow out of being easily startled, and he couldn’t wait for that day so he could go on more adventures with his buddy.

Yet that night wasn’t in his favor.

“Do we have to tell them now?”

“’Course we do! It’s a part of camping, so go on.” Cuphead tossed Mugman a flashlight, which he clumsily caught. “You go first.”

“Me? Oh boy… Um, okay.” Mugman tugged at the collar of his pajama shirt, suddenly warm, and the campfire wasn’t the cause of it. “Uh… O-once there were these two brothers, kind of like us, who lived on the second isles. Every day they’d go to the fun fair and stay out late after dark, even though their parents told them not to.”

He watched as Cuphead listened intently to his words, lying down at some point and propping himself up with his fists. Normally Mugman loved it whenever his brother became so engrossed in his stories, but this time around it meant that he had to keep his interest piqued by continuing with something scary. And he just wasn’t the type of kid to spin together ghost stories willy-nilly.

“And then, uh…one day they stayed out a bit too late, when the whole fair was shut down and everyone had gone home. The younger brother wanted to leave, but the older brother saw that one of the rides was still going.” Mugman paused, trying to draw inspiration from the actual rides he and Cuphead had once gone on at the fair. “The rollercoaster.”

“Murder,” Cuphead whispered, eyes shining. “Well go on. Did they get on? Or was the younger one too chicken?”

“No, he was _not_ chicken and sat in the front row! All by himself!”

Cuphead laughed. “Okay, okay, he’s pretty gutsy. Then what?”

“They rode it a million times, but at one point when they went on it one more time before they said they’d go home, it…it got stuck on the tracks, yeah. It got stuck on the loop-de-loops, so they were hanging upside down for an awfully long time. Then, o-one of their belts wasn’t working right, so they…well, since the youngest was all the way up front, the oldest one had to—”

A noticeable chill went down Mugman’s spine as he covered his eyes, not wanting to carry on. “I spooked myself,” he admitted.

“Aw, c’mon! It was getting to the good part!” Mugman refused to continue, getting Cuphead to sigh and wave a hand to dismiss the cliffhanger. “Fine, you big sippy cup. I’ve got an even better one. Mine’s about two bros, too, but they liked to be daring on the isles all day and pulled all sorts of tricks at night.”

Mugman rolled his eyes. “Gee, wonder who they’re supposed to be like.”

“Hush. So one night they decided to sneak out to the woods, looking for this rare monster that could grant you wishes. No one knew where it lived and said it came to you instead, so—”

“A monster?” Mugman interrupted. “Monsters can’t grant wishes. Don’t you mean a genie, like Djimmi?”

Cuphead huffed, a little peeved that he supposedly needed to be correct with a species.

“Well _this_ monster could, but he can only grant one wish. Anyway, the brothers eventually encountered him and each asked for a wish, but the monster said he’d make just one come true. So the brothers fought over who could have it ‘til the younger one accidentally wished his brother away. He tried getting him back, but nothing worked, so he had to go home with the bad news. But on his way back, he kept hearing footsteps behind him and a voice whispering in his ear when no one was even there.”

Throughout the spiel, Mugman’s pupils were practically shrinking in on themselves. Hearing the last part, however, made him start shaking again.

“What was the voice whispering?” He dared to ask, voice cracking a bit.

“He was saying”—Cuphead lowered his voice, taking on an almost croaky tone—“‘_you’ll pay. You’ll **pay**._’”

Mugman’s straw was now noisily rattling around his head, and his gloves were back over his eyes. “Wh-who was whispering?”

“Well, when the boy finally reached the end of the forest, he felt hands on his shoulders. Not just any hands, though − _claws_. He turned around and saw his bro he thought he’d wished away forever, completely transformed into something much worse than the monster they found. The little brother froze up, shakin’ in his boots, as his beast of a brother stepped closer, slowly leaned down, and…”

“_And?_ A-and what?” The suspense was chilling Mugman’s entire body, yet when nothing more was said, he hesitantly peeked through his fingers. “C-Cuphead? What happened? What’d he do?”

“He… _A__te him whole!_”

The shout had come from behind, Cuphead having snuck up on where Mugman sat when he’d covered his eyes. A shriek way too high for the latter’s voice shot out his mouth the same time his stomach was violently tickled. Rather than laughing, he swung his arms wildly about, trying to push his tricky sibling away.

“Oh-ho, oh man! You should’ve seen your face − again!”

Being frightened two times already in the same night and being laughed at? Mugman wasn’t having it. Both fists curled in frustration, and his eyelids lowered into a heated scowl as he pressed his nose into Cuphead’s. Cuphead held his hands up in surrender, grinning sheepishly and taking a step back.

“Whoa hey, Mugs, I was just messin’ around. None of it was true, I promise. Besides,” he added, puffing out his chest, “you’ve got your big bro here to wallop against anyone lookin’ to pick a fight with us.”

“Uh-huh. Can we go to sleep now?”

“Already? But we…” The look the cup received had his hands return up to his chest. “Alright, alright, lights out you grumpy mug.”


	3. Spooky Stories {Cuphead & Mugman} 2/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the boys settle down for bed, the spookiness doesn't end when something peculiar catches Cuphead's attention. Braving the woods, the brothers are in for a rather unusual fright when they're convinced a monster from Cuphead's tale is real.

The campfire acted as a flickering but still willing nightlight to the cup brothers, casting off pint-sized shadows on the ground. A nudge to Cuphead’s side made him jerk awake to see Mugman halfway out of his blanket, mouth wide open and a snore escaping every five seconds.

_I don’t snore my foot_, Cuphead thought with a snicker, turning on his stomach to stare out at the neighboring forest. A sleepy grin crossed his face, and he wished he and Mugman could camp out in their backyard more often.

The isles held much appreciated beauty and wonder, though their weather patterns were often something people scratched their heads at. It could be rainy and dreary in, say, the third isles, then hot and windy in the first. But it was home and the boys wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Cuphead yawned, ready to head back to sleep when something made him do a double take. He swore he had just watched a shadow travel in between the trees, bigger than any animal he’d ever seen. He felt around for one of the flashlights and clicked it on, scanning the beam as far out as it could reach, but nothing presented itself to him.

_I’m seeing things. I gotta be seeing things_, he told himself, turning the flashlight off. _Mugs is right. We’ve been running around all day and need some sleep._

** _Snap!_ **

Cuphead turned the flashlight back on with breakneck speed, trying to catch whatever was messing with him. Distant moths grew curious of the bright light, and some grasshoppers scuttled away at the abrupt illumination. He knew for a fact he’d heard what he heard, and he knew the bugs weren’t big enough to make a loud noise like that.

“Mugs.” Cuphead shook his shoulder. “Mugman, wake up.”

His snores hastily cut off, transitioning into a grumbled protest as he cracked his eyes open. “What?”

“I think there’s someone out in the woods. I saw a big shadow moving around.”

Mugman lay still for a moment, then readjusted his blanket and rubbed his eyes. “Cuphead, quit trying to scare me.”

“I’m not, I swear! I really did hear and see something running around. You think we should check it out? We can take it. There can’t be more than one.”

While Cuphead rambled, Mugman’s doubtful expression slowly sunk into a different look before he was lightly scowling at his brother’s wild imagination. _Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me._ But going for a third when it had to be past midnight? Cuphead was off the wall.

Mugman rolled over to return to sleep, mumbling a “goodnight” that sparked off a bit of Cuphead’s temper. Taking the flashlight and a lone stick, he jumped to his feet and marched towards the opening of the forest.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” he grumbled along the way. “I’ll find whatever’s trying to bug us, and if it’s a monster, I’ll pummel it ten seconds tops.”

The narrow path at the cup’s feet faded as it lead into more and more darkness of the woods, the light of the barely-there campfire fizzing out of sight the farther he went. Knotted roots and fallen acorns made him jump or stumble every other minute, but he continued on. The occasional hoot of a hidden owl was the only sound to permeate the silence, until a chorus of footsteps and crunching dirt soon echoed into the emptiness of the night.

“C-come on out!” Cuphead wanted to kick himself for stuttering. He forced the nerves out of his voice and clenched a fist around the stick he held, brandishing it high above his head. “I ain’t afraid! If you know what’s good for you, you’d better scram before I−!”

“Cuphead.”

His name being said wasn’t what scared him; it was the feel of a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around, whacking what was only Mugman right in the nose with the stick.

“_Ow!_ You big doof, it’s just me!”

“Gosh Mugs! Did you want me in an early grave? What the heck are you doing here? I thought you didn’t believe me.”

“I don’t, but you might get lost.” Mugman held up the second flashlight. “And that’s scarier than any monster you can make up.”

Cuphead ground his teeth, his brother still not believing a word he said irritating him all the more. “For the hundredth time, I’m not making this one up. I saw it running out here. I swear!”

“You only mentioned it once, not a hundred times. Besides, for all you know, it could be one of those critters we always see—”

An odd, indescribable sound suddenly shot through the forest, getting Mugman to latch onto Cuphead’s arm.

“What was that?” He whisper-screeched.

“Oh, who’s making what up again?” Outside Cuphead appeared miffed, inside he was shaking. Yet he still moved forward, adrenaline and fear clashing together. “I told you something’s out here.”

Mugman jumped ahead to catch up, hesitantly sweeping his flashlight over the bushes. “You don’t…y-you don’t think it’s the lost brother who turned into a monster, do you?”

“What? No! That story was total baloney.” Cuphead’s wandering gaze and closeness to Mugman didn’t help support the statement. “I made it up on the spot.”

The boys couldn’t remember their favorite place to play ever being so intimidating, but they figured that with the lack of light and an intruder lurking somewhere, they wouldn’t be finding anything fun about it for a while. The owl was back, and the bugs shrieked in exasperation every time the flashlights were shone on them.

“Hello?” Cuphead jumped at Mugman’s sudden shout. “Whoever’s out there, please leave us alone! We’ll go back home and be good!”

“Mugs, it’s not gonna listen to reason. It’s a monster.”

“How do you know it wants to hurt us? Maybe…maybe it’s just lost, and you saw it running back home. Even monsters need sleep.”

“So what? When I see this thing for trying to spook us, it’s gonna—”

As if to taunt them, the sound from earlier repeated itself, albeit less jarring than its first revelation. Due to the acoustics of the woods, it was hard to tell whether it was close or far away, and the nocturnal creatures only added to the suspense with their own buzzing, croaking, or screeching. Cuphead and Mugman, much like the brother from Cuphead’s story, were frozen up and shaking in their boots.

“Let’s go back home,” Mugman whispered, tugging at Cuphead’s arm. “We don’t have to see whatever’s out there. B-Besides, if Elder Kettle finds out we’re up at this hour, he’ll be worse than any kind of monster.”

“Yeah,” Cuphead agreed with the slightest tremble in his voice. “Whoever’s out there is the biggest chicken I know, anyway!” He shouted at the emptiness, the last call out making him feel a bit braver for having to retreat.

“Takes alotta guts to call me ‘chicken’!”

Cuphead and Mugman lost track of how many times they’d shouted that night, but the different voice added to the tally. Both attempted to run and ended up clunking heads and tripping over one another’s feet. The light of their flashlights wildly whipped about, blinding them a couple times, and the stick Cuphead had brought along snagged their pajamas at one point.

“I-It’s got my leg! It’s got my leg!”

“_Ow!_ Stop moving, my arm’s stuck!”

“If you two don’t cool it, the neighbors are going to complain, geeze!”

Amidst the chaos of trying to scatter, Mugman eventually got control of a flashlight and pointed it forward, seeing nothing but blue towering over him. As the beam traveled up, two eyes instinctively closed, and a wide mouth let out a pained shout.

Mugman blinked in surprise. “Goopy?”

“Who else would it be?” The slime snapped. “You know I live right around the corner. I know these parts like the back of my boxing gloves. And would you turn that light off? You’ll wake all of Inkwell!”

Cuphead quickly got to his feet, dusting off his pajamas. “He’s…he’s not a monster. He’s not the monster from my story. He’s not going to eat us!”

Goopy continued staring with an almost concerned look as the cup latched himself to the side of his body, awkwardly hugging him. “Yeah, well, you kooks had better run on home. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

With his usual gloppy hops, the ball of blue slime took his leave to return to his portion of the woods where he called home.

Cuphead breathed a sigh of relief, feeling better that he didn’t have to fight any foes for the night. “Whelp, guess there was a panic all for nothing. C’mon Mugs, you heard what he said. We should head back.”

“I wouldn’t say it was for nothing.” Mugman smirked and poked his brother’s arm as the two retracted their steps home. “You were pretty scared back there, huh Cuphead?”

The boy crossed his arms, avoiding his brother’s smug gaze. “_Tch_, I was not.”

“You screamed louder than me and fell over me trying to run away. You jumped so high when I tapped you earlier, and you thought I was the monster. You even hit me with a stick!”

“I wasn’t _scared_ Mugman, I got a bit of a fright. Not the same thing.”

“You’re right. Screaming like a frilly schoolgirl doesn’t mean my big bro’s afraid of anything.”

“Why you−!”

Mugman laughed into his hand as he raced down the path, Cuphead chasing after him in a spout of fury. It was safe to say that there were no ghosts, no ghouls, or any child-eating monsters out and about that brisk, clear, and “spooky” night.

Just two cups and their wild imaginations.


	4. By the Seaside {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Brineybeard leaves his ship unattended, Cuphead and Mugman figure just a few minutes aboard won’t do any harm.

Along the seafront was every color imaginable. In the sunlight, they were soft no matter how bright the light grew and always twice as pleasing. The water stretched out as far as the eye could see until the blinding horizon limited one from gazing too far.

That, as well as the towering red ship of Captain Brineybeard.

The water craft bobbed gently in the sea surrounding her, eyes shut for a midday nap while her owner was out occupying a pub no doubt, most likely sharing stories of his previous excursions that may or may not have been laced in exaggeration. Other than the seagulls, rolling waves, and common city noises in the distance, all was relatively quiet around the port, lulling the ship deeper into slumber and making her miss the solid _pitter-patter_ of boots on the dock.

“I dunno Cuphead. Are you sure?”

“Why can’t we? We don’t need his permission all the time, I don’t think. He’s said it himself that if we ever wanna come and be pirates, we can.”

A finger curled by the side of Mugman’s mouth as he still hesitated to trust his brother’s words. “Yeah, but…”

Cuphead wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Come on Mugs. The cap’s our old pal, and the ship likes us. He won’t mind.”

It was true how the two cups were good friends with both the captain and his sea vessel, and he had told them many times that they were more than welcome to visit the port for a game of pirate − so long as it was okay with Elder Kettle. At the moment he was busy with something, and it wasn’t often when the trio could travel to the third isles and spend half the day there. Still…

“Mugs, you comin’ or what?”

Having no choice, Mugman quickly joined Cuphead’s side. “Oh alright. But we gotta be quiet or we’ll wake her.”

“Nah, Brineybeard said she’s a heavy sleeper under the sun. We’ll be fine. Gimme a boost, will ya?”

By how low the tide was and how the boat was positioned, the two were able to pull themselves up by the bowsprit. Whatever got stored on Brineybeard’s ship varied any time Cuphead and Mugman visited. Tons of maps, compasses, and weaponry littered a table one day; rope, fishing hooks, and teas and coffees with their respective pots cluttered a corner another day; and all sorts of spices, dried fruits, and meats that could supply a captain and his crew for over two months overflowed in barrels come next week.

Cuphead and Mugman would of course dump their curious questions all over the poor man, not minding if their day was spent listening to his stories instead of playing. As much as they liked pretending to be pirates, they absolutely loved whenever Brineybeard had time to sit down with them and illustrate another daring day out at seas. Some he teased were myths, others old folktale he’d heard passed down from generations, but it kept the pair entertained nonetheless.

This time around, the barrels were back. Instead of having any food in them, however…

“G-r-o-g?” Cuphead spelled out. He looked to Mugman, who looked equally puzzled. “What the heck’s that?”

“Some kind of meat?” Mugman guessed.

With a simultaneous shrug, the two struggled to lift the lid off one of the barrels, and doing so released a bizarre smell bundled up inside. A brownish liquid barely swished around, its scent growing thicker in the air with how long it remained exposed.

“Whelp, definitely not food,” Cuphead noted. He stood on his toes to get a closer look, squinting at what to make of the discovery. “What _is_ this stuff? I can barely see myself in it!”

Mugman could only shrug again. “It doesn’t look like tea, even though it’s brown. You think it’s a rotten batch?”

“Can’t be. Brineybeard doesn’t bring back rotten things when he’s out exploring; everything’s always new and exciting. C’mon, let’s find something else.”

Planning to cover up the grog for last, the pair wandered around in awe, the upper deck being both cluttered with sea tools and spacious enough in size to roam around. At some point they separated to explore on their own. Mugman took to climbing the crow’s nest for a better view. And boy, did the lookout point provide him one.

Up and above, it was like looking down at the world from a giant’s shoulder. He could see as far out to the hazy outlines of the first isles, peppered with faint greens of the trees and whites from low clouds. The city folk looked like colorful ants, hustling and bustling in their own activities. Here and there, massive crests topped with white froth charged through the sea, pulsing with life as the receptacle of water sloshed forward.

“Golly,” Mugman whispered to himself, smiling widely as he observed the fantastic scenery before him. “Makes me wanna stay forever.”

He gazed down, about to call to his brother when he realized it would probably wake the ship. Yet that took second place as to why he couldn’t shout. He had no brother to shout to.

“Cuphead?”

Down below in the captain’s cabin was wood on wood in every shade of brown. Numerous windows streamed in hot beams of sunlight while overviewing the glorious blues of the waters, and opened notebooks, drawn on maps, and stacks of paper mixed in with one another on a desk, being held down by half-empty bottles like a paperweight.

Cuphead ran a glove over a worn bookshelf huddled in the corner, the shelves bursting with books and more stacks of paper. A lone telescope stuck out from behind the book supplier, and he eagerly grabbed it.

“Just wait ‘til Mugs sees this. Now we can really play pirate!”

He began heading back up to the main deck when something else caught his eye. Like the bookshelf, it hid in a corner among the dust clouds and blinding sunlight. But unlike the complicated novels on the shelves, this was something the small cup could understand.

A brown chest, no doubt brimming with treasure inside.

Setting the telescope down, Cuphead raced over to the trunk and pushed the loose chains aside, an already unlocked padlock clunking to the floor as well. Heaving the top open, his anticipating grin flipped upside down in confusion. Rather than finding the stereotypical hordes of jewels, coins, and other riches mentioned in some of Brineybeard’s tales, there were more sentimental items inside.

Pulpy letters stuck out between the pages of books; cracked or rusted pendants and pocket watches hid beneath torn things of mens’ garments; surviving pieces of sketches and photographs took up a good space in the middle—

“Cuphead!” The cup’s attention whipped over to the stairs at the whisper, seeing Mugman halfway down. “What are you doing? This is for captains only!”

“How come you’re whispering? It’s just us.”

“We’re not supposed to be down here. We could get in trouble.”

“Relax, we’ll just say we were playing pirate. You can be my watchman if you’re so worried,” Cuphead added at his brother’s fidgeting. “I’ll be the captain going through my treasures.”

“But…”

“Aw, c’mon Mugs. Look at this snazzy stuff!” Cuphead grinned as Mugman hesitantly made his way down and handed him a photograph. “Look there. I think that’s Brineybeard and his men when there wasn’t even a city to begin with.”

“I think you’re right. Look, he’s got only one pegleg and no eyepatch.”

“And no tubby belly.”

The two laughed, examining the faded picture for a moment more before Cuphead reached back in the trunk for another, showing Mugman whatever he fished out first before the latter gradually became a bit more comfortable to reach for an item himself. Sure, they were being a bit intrusive in a place for only a captain to dwell, but as long as they cleaned up after themselves and behaved, Mugman figured all was well. In an even two minutes, half of the objects from the chest surrounded the curious children.

“Hey, check it out!” Cuphead held up another photograph where two pirates were side by side in front of a large ship, each arm wrapped around the other’s shoulder in a friendly manner despite the pair looking quite intimidating. “I think that’s Brineybeard when he got his eyepatch, and… Is that Santa Clause?”

Mugman took the photo to inspect. “No way. He looks too mean to be Santa.”

“Looks like him to me.”

A jolly, old timey song sounded from outside, being an odd yet funny coincidence to Cuphead’s statement. Though as it grew closer, the amusement faded as the boys looked at one another with wide eyes. Brineybeard was the one singing and he was approaching the lower decks.

“Quick, put everything back!” Mugman hissed.

Their swift attempts were futile, for Brineybeard was springing down the cabin’s steps two at a time, peglegs rhythmically clicking along to the melody he now began to whistle. A good deal of his face was flushed red from one too many drinks and his whistling flattened at the sight of the dishes beside his chest, frozen in apprehension.

“Well, well, got me some stowaways on board, huh?” He laughed out, fists on his hips. “Sneakin’ around this ol’ captain is foolish, lest ye be wantin’ bucketfuls of adrenaline more than yer tiny cups can hold!”

Sober or soused, Brineybeard’s vocabulary was virtually the same, though Cuphead and Mugman weren’t too sure if they were in trouble for trespassing or if Brineybeard was just pulling their leg.

“We’re sorry we came on your ship without asking first,” Mugman apologized, having to nudge Cuphead’s shoulder when he remained quiet.

“Ow, geez! Yeah, we’re sorry. We were only curious what kinds of stuff you had this time. Guess we got carried away and stayed too long.”

“Are you going to tell Elder Kettle how we misbehaved?”

“Misbe—” Brineybeard let out a cackle. “Misbehavin' for what? Bein’ pirates? Manning the ship while I was gone? I owe you boys for what ya did when that connivin’ Devil put the whole isles in debt. Yer Grade A in my book.” Cuphead and Mugman’s expressions relaxed as the cheerful pirate placed his hefty hands on their shoulders. “But I did see the ol’ kettle comin’ over. Best be headin’ up to not keep him waitin’.”

Mugman nodded. “Thanks so much Brineybeard!”

Cuphead waved over his shoulder as he and his brother took their leave. “Yeah, here’s hoping we see you again soon!”

Brineybeard waved after them, chuckling to himself and eventually reaching down to a photograph the boys had forgotten to put away. The one that showed the pair of pirates where the two had mistaken one of them to be Brineybeard and the other as Santa Clause. A wave of nostalgia flooded over him, sobering him up a little as he took in the photo with his good eye.

“_Arr…_ Cap’n Silver, Cap’n Paul, ye must be proud of what this seadog has become.”


	5. “For My Kind Ocean” {Mugman/Cala Maria}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mugman decides to give something to his favorite beauty of the sea to remind her just how much she makes him dizzy with love.

The waves shimmered like sequins under the evening sun, softly brushing each shell and stone onshore as the wind nudged the water forward. The ocean was something Mugman had grown to love. He found fascination in the peaceful sounds when the waves rolled up to the rocky beach; the ticklish touch to his glass skin when he played in the water always sent his nostalgia soaring; and the way the sun shone off the rippling surface…

No description could ever capture its mysterious beauty.

Mugman held tight to the railing overlooking the water, hopping from one foot to the other. Dressed in his old blue raincoat, he leaned into the sea breeze to feel the salty spray on his face. Through squinted eyes he took in the sights of foam reflecting lights of an active lighthouse miles from land, as well as something large surfacing from below.

What appeared to be a rising purple octopus was actually an interpretation of hair framing a doll-like face, paired with a small button nose that crinkled at the change of atmosphere and delicate pink lips that curled in curiosity. A lavender skinned hand pushed away the tentacles blocking her view, and bright turquoise eyes swept over the water until they came to a stop. When Mugman waved, the mermaid eagerly waved back and sank back underwater, a shimmering sea green tail sending up a mighty splash.

Mugman peered over the railing a second time, not expecting a swift reappearance when a nose abruptly bopped into his own. His heartbeat went haywire by the close proximity, and he stumbled back from the shock as the lady of the sea grinned down at him.

“You came back!” Cala Maria cheered, almost childlike. “Oh, I’m so happy you came back!”

Mugman glanced down at his boots, nodding quickly while a wide smile clung to his face. Though he was just as thrilled to see his friend, his nerves around her always multiplied.

“Of course I came back. I made a promise, didn’t I? I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I broke a promise.”

“I’ll never be upset with you if you can’t come, you know. You’re so far from the city, and it must be exhausting for you and Cuphead to come here on foot.”

“As long as we’re back before supper, Elder Kettle doesn’t mind us out.”

While that part was true, even when the brothers used shortcuts and if they ran the whole way, going to the city still took time and was pretty harsh on their feet. Either would be lucky if he made it back home by the time the table had been set.

Mugman cleared his throat. “I, uh…I can’t stay for too long, but I wrote you something nice.”

Cala tilted her head, and the way her eyes fluttered twice in a puzzled blink made Mugman’s head warm. “You wrote me something?”

“S-Sure. A poem. I spent all week thinking of it. Do you like poems?”

Cala smiled, carefully putting an elbow by the railing so she could rest a cheek in her hand. Truthfully she knew next to nothing about poems, yet the little knowledge she did have on the creative pieces was that they could be inspired by someone charming. Or so she’d heard. A prickle of vanity flowed to her head to think that she alone had been the little mug’s muse for a good seven days.

She nodded, her lips cutely stretching her smile. “Sure, I like poems.”

“Oh, good! ‘C-Cause I think you’ll really like this one. Um…”

Mugman cleared his throat again, having taken a folded up piece of paper out his pocket. His boot drew circles in the ground the longer Cala stared, and he knew he couldn’t waste her or his own time. She would soon grow bored of his silence, and Elder Kettle wouldn’t be pleased if he showed up past curfew. So with a deep breath, Mugman stuck out his chest and began reading his special composition.

“_Roses are red, violets are blue. Hugs are kind, and so are you._

_Orchids are white, ghost ones are rare. Shadows are purple, and so is your hair._

_Magnolia grows with buds like a veil, flowers are beautiful, just like your tail._

_Sunflowers reach up to the skies, the sea is blue and sparkly, just like your eyes._

_Daisies are pretty, foxgloves have style. The moonlight shines bright, but no brighter than your smile._”

Mugman turned his head away the same time he produced a small tulip from his pocket, shyly holding it out to Cala. He personally thought he’d gone overboard with how many flowers he named, but he couldn’t help himself. Their colors were so bright and unique, and various ones often reminded him of Cala when he found himself daydreaming about her. Lilacs because of her youthful innocence, buttercups because of the radiance she cast off, irises because they reminded him of her beautiful skin.

While Mugman didn’t think his poem was all that great, Cala thought otherwise. She continued staring at the tiny red plant in his hands, the lovely words repeating themselves in her mind. Her smile was brighter than moonlight? Her eyes, much like the sea she lived in, were just as blue and sparkled just as much? Being compared to so many things she found pleasing made her heart warm.

“I loved it!” Cala gingerly accepted the flower, beaming as her cheeks were colored bright pink. “That was so thoughtful and sweet of you. Oh, thank you Mugman!”

She lowered her head, kissing his cheek and giggling at the reaction enticed. Mugman’s heart just about jumped out his chest like a cartoon character, and every inch of his mug turned scarlet while he stammered and fumbled with his words in a lovesick manner.

“_Heh_, you…y-you, you’re welcome Cala.”


	6. A Golden Find {Cuphead}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While out exploring one day, Cuphead stumbles across quite an interesting sight that leads to a handful of mysteries, one after the other.

It was one of those rare times in Inkwell Isle where it’d be a shame not to take advantage of the day. Whether it be basking under the sun or heading down to see what was new at the market, just about everyone was roaming the linked islands to travel with friends or out to enjoy nature.

Cuphead was greatly appreciating the latter and wandered − well, more like whizzed − through the woods that connected to the back of his home. He’d managed to get an agreement from Elder Kettle of no more than an hour out while Mugman chose to stay behind.

It felt a little weird exploring one of their favorite spots without him, but Cuphead had to admit it was nice not having to worry about going too fast or having to humor his brother by looking at every flower or butterfly they encountered. He sped as fast as his legs could carry him, zipping past trees and ducking under branches, everything blurring into dizzying blends of earthy colors before his eyes.

Then something made him skid to a stop.

What looked to be the mouth of a cave embedded in a cracked stone wall sat several meters away, arranged in such a way that it would be difficult for passersby to spot at first glance. A hint of timidness buzzed in Cuphead’s chest the closer he got, and his eyes widened when the odd structure did happen to be an enormous cave. Its entrance didn’t show much, as if the light was afraid of entering. He peered inside, watching his shadow dissolve into the surrounding darkness, and had no clue what was ahead.

But that didn’t last long.

Hoisting up his shorts in determination, the cup marched inside and spread his palms out in front of him, stumbling blindly into the walls and a couple rocks before finding his way on a slightly clearer path. The eventual sound and feel of something sloshing against his boots soon made him stop. Cuphead couldn’t see what he’d stepped in, but by the noise it made he assumed it was a puddle.

Seeing a source of light up ahead, however, put those curiosities to rest and the red dish was quick to head toward it. Weak sunlight from a gaping hole above lit up the path bit by bit, and the little adventurer was soon able to properly explore with an excited grin.

Rocks that had to have been another hundred feet higher curved from the floor to ceiling, and stones of unique shapes and sizes littered the floor, shimmering oranges, purples and crimsons that reminded Cuphead of the pebbles that lined the beach over in the third isles. He reached down to pick one up, running a thumb over its smooth surface. It was perfectly round, no sharp edges or craggy curves, and held a glossy caramel coat in the front while swirls of green and yellow designed the back.

“Sweet,” he murmured to himself, pocketing the miniature treasure with a grin and continuing on. “Look at what you’re missin’, Mugs − a whole adventure right in our backyard!”

The further Cuphead ventured in the cave, the more intricate the layout became and the longer he wanted to stay.

_How cool would it be_, he thought, _if Mugman and I could come out to play here? Live here, even! This place is so huge, and we’d have tons of adventures every single day and never get bored. We could collect these neat rocks, too! Boy, wouldn’t that be—_

In the heat of his avid thoughts, Cuphead nearly lost his footing on an edge jutting out the ground. His arms instinctively windmilled back, getting him to land on his rear. He sighed in both relief and exasperation for his actions, but his mood shot right back up when he saw what the edge overlooked.

A great pool of water. It was uncommonly clear and glittery, so much so that it was impossible to gauge the depth or figure out how it could stay so clean.

Cuphead peered down, his beaming reflection appearing clear as day, and decided then and there that it'd be pointless to not see what was below. The drop was roughly four or five feet, but there was no way he was getting back up through sheer luck. He raced back the way he came, doing his best to retrace his steps until the dull light from outside shone into view. He practically tore the forest apart, knowing there had to be something useful for his idea, and got his wish after a great deal of searching.

Finding the way back to the cave and overall pool of water was easier now that he was fueled by the thrill of adventure, and Cuphead had to give himself a pat on the back once his makeshift vine rope was low and sturdy enough to climb. He tied and weighed the end down with large rocks, yanked off his boots, and eagerly gave himself a running start to catapult into the water. The momentum pushed him farther down than expected, but the underwater beauty he got introduced to was worth it.

Upturned stones and abandoned hermit crab shells gleamed white, black or pink; sea creatures barely bigger than Cuphead’s eye hurried past; and what looked to be hundreds of other underwater channels to other possible locations were everywhere. Some were close enough that had to have something smaller than a head to enter, others required a greater swim to get to and were larger than the cave itself.

If he could hold his breath longer, Cuphead would’ve explored every single one of them. Instead he swam around for a bit, both above and below the water, floating to stare at the beautiful ceiling or daring to dive deeper. Regardless of if he could succeed or not, he got a bang out of the activity and craved for more.

Though he figured he must’ve been having fun past the time limit given, because his conscience warned him he best be heading home soon. Disappointed in having to leave such a fantastic place but knowing he’d be worrying Elder Kettle and Mugman, he swam to the surface…

…when something shone out the corner of his eye.

Cuphead whipped his attention down, seeing nothing for a moment until the hidden object gleamed a second time. He quickly went to get air and dove back down, having to push aside dust particles and roughly dig through the damp muck until it was revealed.

A coin, caked with hard residue and discolored to show how much it had aged. But it wasn’t the common currency the residents of Inkwell used to buy things. No, this coin was special. Cuphead could tell. How it had gotten there in the first place, how much it was worth now, and who it had belonged to, well…

It would surely be a mystery for another day.


	7. Candy Store {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the children of Inkwell can agree that the candy shop is heaven on earth. Though there’s a certain treat no brave soul has dared to eat yet.

A bowl of ribboned sweets sat high and proud atop the shelf in the Inkwell Isle Candy Store. It was an odd display, and most customers didn’t give it a second glance while kids begged their parents for enough coins to get a sample. But even in those rare times when the tantrums were rewarded and the shopkeeper took their pay, the children were still hesitant to eat the candy.

For it looked sweet and delicious, but the funny shape, the mismatched colors, the lack of fragrance… No one had ever seen anything like it before.

Questions of if it was a fancy imported sugarplum or a cream-filled snack sprung up for debate from time to time, and it would often be subject to children’s play as a penalty to be eaten after losing a bet. Though no daredevil ever made it past the opened wrapper, let alone popping the candy in their mouth.

Bottom line, whatever sat in the bowl remained a mystery. Well, not for long.

With another new day settling and an allowance in their pockets, Cuphead and Mugman took off to the candy shop in hopes of a good sugar high, racing each other through the isles and throwing a quick “hi” to whomever they passed along the way.

“C’mon Mugs, you’re falling behind!” Cuphead called over his shoulder. “We gotta get there before all the good stuff’s taken!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” The blue mug quickened his pace in order to catch up, panting a bit from all the running the two had done the minute Elder Kettle gave them each five gold coins to spend. “And Ollie could never run out of sweets, you know. He just can’t!”

“Well then we gotta make sure we’re the first to try them all!”

“Even if we had 50 coins, I don’t think we could buy that much candy in one day. Or eat it all.”

Cuphead slowed his pace just enough to take Mugman’s hand and run along with him. “Who says we can’t try? We’re rich this week, thanks to Elder Kettle!”

Mugman laughed at this and kept up with Cuphead’s pace without complaint, and in no time the pair reached the multicolored candy shop seated on the outskirts of the second isles. A tiny bell jingled when the door opened, and an explosion of colors, accompanied by the scents of candy, greeted the boys.

Vivid orange-browns of honey and caramel candy bars neatly stacked on one shelf, cursive writing letting the children know which was which; the pale greens and salmon pinks of salt water taffy spread along tiny tables in their colorful wrappers; and lollipops every hue of the rainbow decorated little glass jars like flowers in a vase.

There were more possibilities than Mugman could be conscious of the longer he took in the candytopia. “Golly… Did we luck out or what?”

Cuphead nodded, excitement bubbling up inside of him. “I’ll say. Man, I love Inkwell Isle!”

Hand in hand once again, the boys roamed the wide candy shop, taking in the ways everything was artistically placed. Row upon row of shelves chocked with a vast line of tinned and boxed goods caught their eye at one point. On tiptoes the pair stretched up to the lowest shelf, eyes wide in curiosity and hoping to see what lay inside.

“Well, if it isn’t the heroes of Inkwell Isles!” A sprightly voice exclaimed, belonging to a tall Border Collie in a striped white button-down shirt and red pants behind the candy counter. He leant over it when Cuphead and Mugman rushed toward him and held up their arms, offering a hug sweeter than a gumdrop and harder than a jawbreaker. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you boys here. There used to be three last time you came, though. What happened to the other kid?” He added teasingly, getting the two to laugh.

“Elder Kettle gave us our allowance early and said we could get any treats we wanted,” Cuphead said.

“For good behavior,” Mugman added, hugging his brother close and grinning up at Ollie. “Cups didn’t get into mischief for a whole week!”

Ollie laughed and reached out to pat the young cup’s head, his long tail wagging out of pride. “Well, ain’t that a pip! Good on you lad. Go on ahead and choose what you’d like boys. You’ve earned it.”

Grinning at one another, Cuphead and Mugman spread their gloves over the chilled glass, the large-scale counter a riot of vibrant shades with rich fruit jellies, licorice allsorts, sour gobstoppers, and fizzy cola bottles.

But the boys’ most favorite teeth-rotting treat happened to be the chocolate pralines, snugly wrapped in their purple wrappers inside decorative boxes and neatly stacked in unique ways to attract buyers. This time they were organized to make a pyramid, and already the brothers were imagining dumping the chocolates out at home and gobbling them down until bedtime, when the bag would most definitely be empty and crumpled in the garbage out of Elder Kettle’s view.

It didn’t come cheap of course, but then receiving an upgrade in allowance for collective good behavior was reason enough to splurge.

Cuphead pressed his nose further into the glass, grinning at the selection his mind finally made up. “I’ll take a box of pralines, some allsorts, and that big lemon-lime gobstopper.”

“Comin’ right up. And for you Mugman?”

If there had been three choices, the little mug would’ve picked one long ago. There weren’t just all the flavors to choose from, but all the possible combinations he could enjoy. At least the choice of chocolate was simple enough.

“Um…” Mugman glanced up and down the shelves. “Guess I’ll take the same as Cups. But a green apple gobstopper instead, please.”

“You got it.”

Whistling a merry tune, Ollie went to work packing the orders in a paper bag. The boys shared another grin, their thrilling candy daydreams about to come true. And no waiting in line had been necessary.

Score!

“We still got four coins put together,” Cuphead pointed out, rolling the remaining money in his gloves after the separate treats had been paid for. “What should we do with them?”

Mugman was about to suggest maybe getting a Cola to share on the way back home when the strange bowl of goodies caught his eye. “Hey Ollie, what’cha got in there?”

“Just another collection to the shop,” the owner replied without looking. He knew what the mug was referring to. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that kind of candy around before.”

“Yeah, is it new?” Cuphead added, his interest equally as piqued as his brother’s.

“Well if you boys have never seen them, then yes they’re new. New to you anyway.” Ollie topped the bagged orders with a thin ribbon to keep them closed and slid them forward. “Even to me these troublemakers spark with a brand-new mood every once in a while. They can be sweet to me or sour the next day, and sometimes I wonder what their goals are and if the children like them.”

While the Collie spoke, he took two pieces of the unique candy from the bowl to lazily juggle in one paw. “But sugar is sugar. I don’t suppose you two would like a try,” he said, pretending to not notice the pair’s rising excitement.

“Boy, would we!” Mugman’s face fell a bit when he remembered the limited coins he and Cuphead had. “Wait, how much is it?”

“Consider this a freebie.”

“Alright!” Cuphead plucked the goodies from the outstretched paw. “Thanks Ollie, you’re a real pal!”

“Don’t mention it. Oh, but Cuphead, Mugman”—A full-on mysterious tone replaced the dog’s usual cheerful demeanor as he winked and handed over the boys’ purchases—“remember: one taste just isn’t enough.”


	8. Trouble in the Treetops {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inkwell Isles’ forests have plenty of beauty, inspiration, and adventures to offer anyone who steps foot beneath the canopies. As well as plenty of troublemakers to stumble across.

The sun was a radiant, all-watching eye over Inkwell Isle, bathing the whole toon overworld in a warm glow. It was a lovely day to enjoy, with gardens in full bloom from the previous season and warm breezes sweeping in from the east carrying over calming scents from the next two isles.

There was a place on the first isle where a stream met the holly trees in the interlinked forests, the water forming a protective arc across the land and flowing through the soil that led deeper into the cluster of trees. No sound disturbed the peace, and the innocent to the most mischievous of woodland creatures liked to keep it that way.

But Cuphead and Mugman had other ideas.

They dashed through the woods like there was no tomorrow, leaping over slippery rocks and ducking under branches, the sound of their rapid steps startling the inhabitants deeper into hiding or making them curious enough to come out and watch the children make a game out of the green maze. The ground soon gave way to a lopsided bank, sending the pair shouting at first but then laughing as they splashed into the small source of water unharmed.

Inkwell Isle’s most renowned brothers knew no limitations to an adventure no matter where they were or what it took to complete it. Well, little Mugman knew the boundaries when it came to what was too much and what wasn’t. Cuphead’s imagination, of course, refused to quit. He could be stranded in the middle of nowhere with barely anything in his pockets and still have the time of his life. He’d think up crazier ideas than the ones before just to make a statement. It kept him on his toes, and what was a kid, he always thought, if not having any fun?

The two helped one another out the riverbank and wrung their shorts out, hoping they’d be dry by the time they returned home, and continued at a gentler pace. With the disruptions now at bay, the forest dwellers hesitantly reemerged to watch once again.

And much like the young cups, someone was out to play that day. Someone times five.

A group of blue, circular slimes scattered to-and-fro in the shadows, attempting to gauge where the boys would go next. Three of them jumped onto the pathway while the remaining pair stayed hidden in the trees. Cuphead and Mugman paused at the odd beings grinning their way, looking at one another in confusion and then back at the creatures.

Mugman crouched down while Cuphead hung back. “Hello there.”

The slimes simply bopped in place and continued grinning, sending a bead of sweat running down the side of Mugman’s head at the lack of a response. But he didn't want to be rude and instead repeated himself, giving the three a warm smile.

Cuphead rolled his eyes when still no response was given. “Forget it Mugs, I doubt they can talk. And even if they could, I don’t think they’d quit grinning all whacky like that.”

One of them made a sound, throwing the two off guard that they could in fact produce noise, and it wasn’t a second later that another launched itself forward and kicked Cuphead in the nose. When it landed, it turned to join its friends racing down the path.

“_Ow!_ Hey!” The red cup ran after them, rubbing his nose with one hand and shaking a fist with the other. “You rotten things better get back here!”

“Cuphead, wait!”

The creatures split up directions − one to the left, the other to the right, and the third keeping straight. Cuphead kept his focus on the one in front of him and picked up speed, being arm’s length from grabbing the runaway when something underground dug its way up at the last second, making him trip. Mugman tried to slow himself down but wound up stumbling over his brother and landing on his stomach ahead of him.

Both groaned and slowly picked themselves up, instantly finding their faces smudged on the ground as one of the slimes from the previous trio jumped on each of their heads to run across − followed by the final one bounding past, which gave a swift kick to each of their rears. All together, the blobs shrieked out their laughter and took off again, hoping their new “playmates” wouldn’t grow tired of the sudden twisted game.

Cuphead spat out the leaves from the fall and glared ahead, straw curling in anger. “I hate those things so much.”

“I think we should leave them alone,” Mugman advised, already in his head. He knew if he didn’t act fast, Cuphead’s pride would take over and he’d be chasing after the nuisances until sundown. “We don’t know what they could be planning.”

With a sour look, Cuphead watched the slimes scurry across a fallen tree trunk acting as a bridge to the other side. One of them stopped to blow a raspberry before running into the shadows. Elder Kettle had warned the boys plenty of times not to venture too far into the forest, but whatever those things were had no business being rude in the first place.

“_Pssh_, what a load of dummies,” Cuphead muttered, wiping himself off. He cupped his hands over his mouth, shouting, “I know better next time, you stupid things!”

Mugman patted his back, half out of encouragement and half to get dirt off his shirt. “We’ll get ’em next time buddy.”

“Oh, we’ll get ’em alright. Right away.”

“Wait, what?”

Cuphead nodded and put a finger to his lips, gesturing for his bro to follow him to the trunk. “We’ll show those loons who they’re messing with.”

“How are we doing that? You got a plan of action?”

It was Cuphead’s turn to grin. “Boy, do I.”

. . . . . . . .

Sat in the middle of the forest, Mugman wasn’t too sure of Cuphead’s idea and was beginning to think he never had a solid one to begin with. He also didn’t appreciate being the bait and having to sit around until he spotted the blue balls of slime. Before he rushed off to retrieve something, Cuphead had told him he knew the perfect way to give the pests a good old-fashioned scare. And while Mugman had to admit while provoking the creatures back didn't seem right, he’d grown pretty curious of what Cuphead planned to do.

But that curiosity faded fifteen minutes ago and he still hadn’t returned.

Leaning against a tree, the little mug lazily shifted through bushes either scarce or full of berries. His mind started to wander out of boredom until he found himself plucking bright red huckleberries off their stems. He held them up to his face, grinning in anticipation, and tossed one up to catch in his mouth.

Yet it never came back down.

Mugman blinked and looked behind him, wondering if he’d thrown too high or if the berry had gotten caught in the bushes. He tossed a second one, but the same thing happened. And it happened again on the third try and the fourth.

“Cuphead, if this is another of your tricks, cut it out already!” He called out, knowing he’d take advantage of any moment to give him a fright. “Just come out!”

Though not directed towards them, the two blue imps from the earlier quintet did as told, jumping out one of the bushes and producing a loud screech. They startled Mugman so badly he copied their sounds and dove behind the tree.

“I hate those things so much,” he growled under his breath.

His head perked up when the slimes’ laughter-like chatter transitioned into an alarmed shout. He peered out from his hiding spot, seeing the slimes trapped under a butterfly net and attempting to break free. Another screech left Mugman’s mouth at the sight of a grotesque-looking mask with a bat, but if it hadn’t been for the red-and-white straw pushed to the edge of a cup, he swore he would’ve dropped dead.

“Got’cha little jerks!” Cuphead exclaimed in a different voice, pushing the end of the bat down on the net so the duo couldn’t jump out. “Goofing around with us like that isn’t so fun now, is it?”

The blue pals glanced at one another and back at their captor, rapidly shaking their heads. Their grins were turned upside down this time around, and it didn’t seem that the rest of their buddies would come to their rescue so soon − willingly or not.

“Maybe next time you’ll learn some manners around strangers,” Mugman pointed out once he finally calmed down from the scare. The slimes nodded vigorously. “What’re we gonna do with them Cup− er, uh… Mister Monster Guy?”

“I dunno.” Cuphead’s mind didn’t draw a blank for long, and he nudged Mugman’s side with his elbow. “Kinda far from home, aren’t ya buddy? What’s the harm in sharing a little snack on the way back with me? One for each of us!”

Confusion turned to amusement within seconds on Mugman’s face as he understood the trick being spun. He snapped his fingers in agreement, smiling wide. “Good idea! I found some berries while I was sitting here, too. They’ll go great with ’em.”

“Oh _definitely_, little mug.”

If the slimes weren’t scared before, they certainly had a reason to be shaking now. Their shrieks returned twice as loud when the boys gave them “hungry” smirks, and for a second they forgot they were trapped and started clamoring over one another in a panic. As a last minute resort, they shrunk in on themselves until they were mere dots of goop.

Cuphead and Mugman burst out laughing and eventually released the still sunken mischief-makers, knowing they must’ve scared them pretty good with a reaction like that. Arms around one another’s shoulder, they made their way across the tree trunk bridge.

“Is that what took you so long?” Mugman asked along the way. “I thought you’d be back by now.”

Cuphead removed the mask and straightened up his straw. “I was gonna go with just our bat, but I figured those goofs wouldn’t be frightened by a toy. As soon as I found some of my Halloween costume, I knew it was good as gold.”

“Good call. Think those things will leave us alone for a while?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they started bowing to us and kissin’ our boots.”

More laughter echoed in the air, and the minute sunshine flooded down to meet the brothers outside the forest, they broke into grins and sprinted their way past garlands of vibrant blossoms, the glow of butterfly wings, and past the milling residents of Inkwell until a homey cottage perched on a plain out in a clear opening rose in the distance.

Home sweet home, far away from any trouble. Just how Cuphead and Mugman liked it.


	9. Funny Story {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When playing outside gets a little too wild, Cuphead and Mugman have to find a way to fix their mess before Elder Kettle returns home.

“You’ve done it now robber! Put ’em up and hand over the gold!”

“You’ll never take me alive copper! Come and get it, if you can!”

Blue skies, fair wind, cool temperatures − Cuphead and Mugman couldn’t have asked for better weather. They always knew it would be a fine and fun day when they could spend it freely outside, but there was an added boost of adrenaline whenever Elder Kettle wasn’t around to monitor them. He would never deliberately leave the two home alone, and in those rare times where he needed to travel the isles for business and was unable to bring his boys along, he never took more than fifteen minutes out.

And whenever the cup and mug managed to not burn the house down or run off finding trouble, there was sometimes a small reward given for their good behavior. That particular morning required the kettle to take more time with his errands, which was okay for the brothers. Their play of Cops and Robbers could be extended.

Cuphead backed Mugman into a tree, positioning his hand like a mock gun and smirking. “Give it up! I’m packin’ heat, and you won’t like me when I’m angry.”

Seeing no open spaces around him, Mugman feigned defeat. “Blast you! _Tsk…_ If I come quietly, nobody gets hurt?”

“Sure. Once you give up the gold, that’s the plan.”

Mugman considered this for half a second before holding his hands up so Cuphead could restrain him. The very second the “gun” was lowered, he nudged him aside and sprinted towards freedom.

“Fat chance, officer!”

“You’re goin’ the hard way, huh!”

Cuphead’s reflexes were on red alert, and by the amount of excitement rushing through his body from the game, energy surged through his arm and made him fire a large peashooter shot as he chased after Mugman. It thankfully didn’t hit him, though his own reflexes were just as active because, when he turned around, he too fired a shot in retaliation.

The right side of the house, unfortunately, couldn’t offer itself protection, and a hole bigger than the boys’ wide eyes and gaping mouths combined was the result of the blue magic.

Mugman gripped the rim of his head so tightly he was lucky nothing cracked. “Oh man, we are in _big_ trouble!”

“Don’t panic!” Cuphead rushed over to inspect the damage. “Maybe…m-maybe Elder Kettle won’t notice!”

“He won’t notice a giant hole in the wall? He’s not that old!”

“Okay, okay, calm down. We just have to fix it before he gets home.”

Mugman crossed his arms over himself, nervously squeezing his shoulders. “How are we gonna do that? There’s no way we can repair this with our bare hands.”

“I could use a little positivity here, Mugs,” Cuphead requested, picking up pieces of the wall and trying to connect them like a jigsaw puzzle.

“Fine. I am _positive_ that there is no way!”

Cuphead scowled up at him and continued shuffling through the rubble to find anything that looked like it would mend together. But no matter how hard he tried, the damage had been done and the impact from the blast had been too strong to leave behind one even chunk of the wall.

Mugman sighed at Cuphead’s attempts and put a hand to his shoulder to stop him. “I think we should tell Elder Kettle what happened when he comes back.”

“And risk getting grounded? No thanks.”

“But Cuphead, we—”

“I said we just have to fix it before he gets home, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

“How?”

. . . . . . . .

“With plaster, no doubt. But you ain’t gonna find that stuff here.”

Being the closest to where they resided and always willing to lend a hand, The Root Pack seemed like the most reasonable bunch for Cuphead and Mugman to go to. Yet their produce neighbors couldn’t be of much help since one, the boys had barely delivered a clear explanation since they were still rattled about the accident, and two, the trio was occupied in tending to their crops for the upcoming season and could barely keep eye contact for more than five seconds.

“There’s really nothing you can do?” Cuphead asked in disappointment.

The large potato of the group huffed and put his attention to a patch of radishes. “What’d you expect, hard hats and cement? We’re a farm kid, not a construction site.”

“Now Moe, watch how you speak. They asked nicely.” Psycarrot smiled apologetically at Cuphead and Mugman. “If there was any other way we could help, you know we all would in a heartbeat. But we’re just not experienced with architecture, and these crops aren’t going to fertilize themselves.”

“They’re better off goin’ to that polluted wormhole over in the third isles,” Moe grumbled his two cents. “Plenty of stuff to buy. Expensive as ever, though.”

“How did your wall get ruined?” Weepy the onion piped up, able to stop what he was doing to give an appropriate amount of attention.

Cuphead and Mugman looked at one another, their stares asking the other the same question: _Should we tell them the truth? _

The Root Pack weren’t the type to engage in idle gossip, yet that didn’t mean either of the vegetables wouldn’t give other neighbors a heads up if they heard something disconcerting. For all they knew, the wall could’ve been damaged from a cluster of forest bugs or was a result of a dare gone horribly wrong by a group of pranksters.

“Uh, funny story,” Cuphead started slowly, glancing around the fenced-in farm as he tried searching for a good way to explain. “It all started when I got an emergency call about a robbery. Mugs here had gone rogue, and he’d nabbed so much gold you thought he was king. So I had to get it back, and we had a shootout that busted the wall pretty out of shape when we were done. But we didn’t mean to break it!”

Psycarrot, Weepy, and Moe abruptly stopped whatever they were doing to stare. Neither of them had been expecting a story so… Well, childish sounded somewhat rude, and melodramatic seemed too light of a word to use.

“Oh, don’t with that malarkey!” Moe eventually blurted out, waving a hand as if to swat the strange answer away. “Just tell your old man you both were out playin’ and put one heckuva dent in the wall.”

“B-but they might get spanked if they say it like that.” Just the thought of trouble piled a fresh thing of water in Weepy’s usual tear-stricken eyes. “You don’t think the kettle will be too cross with them, do you?”

“Better it go the way I suggested than them hiding the mess in the first place.”

This sparked a brief debate between the sensitive onion and the thick-skinned potato, with occasional comments from Psycarrot telling them to get back to work. Cuphead and Mugman took this as their way of giving an indirect goodbye, and with a small ‘thank you’ that got lost among the chatter, they made their way back home.

“Now what?” Mugman asked. “You heard what Moe said. All the fixing stuff’s in the city, but it costs way too much and Elder Kettle would be home by the time we got there, anyway.”

“I know. And he wouldn’t be too pleased if he heard we went there by ourselves without telling him first.” Cuphead stopped, his foot beginning to tap while the wheels in his mind got to work, and a second later he snapped his fingers, grinning widely. “Hey, Beppi’s a creative guy, and he likes improvising, doesn’t he?”

Mugman nodded. “Sure.”

“Why not ask him what to do? He’s good at what he does, so he’s gotta have something to help us.”

. . . . . . . .

“Well I can tell you fellas one thing: taking this wall out for a drink or two is pointless. It’s already plastered!”

Cuphead and Mugman were pretty sure they left an outline on their faces by how hard they face-palmed at Beppi’s _f__ifth_ unnecessary pun. Cuphead hadn’t been too far off with his idea; it was smart to figure that since the entertainer’s job required some creative and crafty improvising, he was bound to have a few tricks up his sleeve.

So off the two had raced to the second isles and into Beppi’s tent, hurriedly explaining that the side of their house had a hole and they needed help fast. Yet the very mention of something so simple opened Pandora’s Box, inspiring pun after pun about walls for the red-and-blue clown. His jokes tickled him pink, and he had hoped they’d help cheer the boys up, too.

No dice.

“We get it Beppi,” Mugman sighed out, though he was sure he and Cuphead didn’t fully understand the joke. “Now that you’ve heard our story, is there anything you can think of that’ll help us out?”

“Oh trust me boys, I’ve heard plenty of stories and try my best with feedback. Except for one I heard about a twenty foot wall. The guy said I’d never get over it.”

Cuphead was instantly regretting his choice to go to Beppi and much too close to clawing his own eyes out. He grabbed the latter’s shoulders and shook them hard, cutting off the laughter.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but we don’t have time for your jokes. We could really use an extra head to help us think. Please?”

Beppi held up his hands, grin still on his face. “Alright now fellas, let’s take it step by step. How did the wall get wrecked? All you mentioned was that you needed it fixed ASAP.”

Much like with The Root Pack, the boys were unsure of how to word their predicament but equally nervous that word might slip. Unlike the vegetables, Beppi was a major goofball − and a talkative one, at that. When he wasn’t clowning around or supervising his rides, he was talking his fair neighbors and visitors’ ears off with nonsensical things. It wouldn’t be surprising if he blabbed to the whole second isle about what Cuphead and Mugman had done.

And if that talk somehow managed to reach Elder Kettle on his way back…

“So funny story,” Cuphead let out, messing with his gloves out of habit. “See, I got a call in the middle of the day ’cause Mugs had just stolen ten things of gold right under my nose. I had to get it back and was gonna take him to the Big House, but there was a little spat, we wound up shootin’ at one another…and then the wall suffered most of the shots.”

Beppi stared, completely wide-eyed while his jaw plopped to the floor. Mugman slapped a hand to his forehead at Cuphead’s totally not exaggerated explanation. With a childlike mentality and career as a jokester, it was often hard to get the clown to take things seriously. So Cuphead’s words had either genuinely frightened him, or impressed him by their innovative tall story.

“Uh, you’ve heard of Cops and Robbers, right? It’s a game,” Mugman hastily put in, waving his hands to deter Beppi’s possible panic or excitement. “It’s a game where you pretend to steal things and try not to get caught. None of that actually happened. We’re perfectly fine.”

Beppi’s expression didn’t waver, but he slowly nodded. “All a game, huh? Well, gold is often the go-to choice. Better than taking ten things of toilets in the middle of the night without a trace. Cops wouldn’t have anything to go on.”

The returning quips had him in stitches once more, so much so that Cuphead and Mugman had to step back when he collapsed on the ground, laughing so hard his head nearly inflated like a balloon.

“Boy, he sure was helpful,” Mugman muttered, he and Cuphead now out of the tent and in the middle of the fair grounds. “He’s laughing himself silly. We can’t talk to him now, not until he calms down. And who knows how long that’ll last?”

“Bon Bon!”

“Huh?”

Cuphead snatched Mugman’s wrist, already making haste. “I just realized! She’s got all sorts of servants running around her castle, so one of them’s bound to be a repairman, right?”

“I…I guess?” 

“She’s right around the corner, so all we gotta do is ask if we can borrow a repairman, he’ll fix the wall, and it’s like nothing broke in the first place.”

Mugman had reason to have his doubts, yet the more he considered the idea, the more it made sense. “You think it’ll really work?”

. . . . . . . .

“Absolutely not!”

“But Bon Bon−!”

“That’s _ Baroness _ Von Bon Bon to you!”

“Fine! But ‘_Baroness _ Von Bon Bon to you’, we need someone!”

Mugman buried his face in his hands as he stood off in the corner inside Bon Bon’s sentient castle, listening to her and Cuphead go back and forth. His pleas were falling on deaf ears, yet in Bon Bon’s shoes it was understandable why she wasn’t immediately on board. The boys _had_ just rushed into her sugar-land domain, bypassed her jellybean guards, and caused such a ruckus shouting for her that she nearly kicked them out without hearing what they had to say.

But now that they had her attention, what was making Mugman antsy wasn’t because Bon Bon was still saying no. His thoughts were on the permanent fear of running into Elder Kettle along the way and having to explain why he and Cuphead weren’t at home. Or worse − running into him back at home.

“You’re not wasting anything from my confectionary!” Bon Bon denied, her stance as rigid as her grip on her candy cane staff.

“We won’t be wasting anything, honest! Please?”

“I said no!”

Cuphead clasped his hands together, almost considering dropping down and begging on his knees if it would move her. “Aw c’mon, have a heart! Please? We just need someone for a couple minutes to repair the wall for us.”

The pink-skinned woman raised an eyebrow. “‘Repair the wall’? What on earth have you boys done this time?”

Cuphead let out a courtesy laugh and rubbed the back of his head. “That’s right, we did kinda rush in here. Funny story, you see… We got a little carried away with our game and were firing at one another, but then we hit the wall and made it explode. _ Heh-heh_.”

“And there’s nothing funny about it at all!” Mugman exclaimed. He went up to Bon Bon, also putting his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Baroness Von Bon Bon, oh please can you help us? It was an accident, and we need to fix it before we get in big trouble.”

Bon Bon kept her gaze steady, though her expression slowly changed. Even if they were rowdy, livelier than any kid on a sugar rush, and troublemakers around the carnival-themed isles when driven by just the right influence, she truly owed the pair after the hellish situation they’d save her and many others from.

With two snaps, she summoned a bulky anthropomorphic chocolate bar in a set of semi-royal clothes. He carried a large hammer and stopped to bow in front of the baroness before staring down at Cuphead and Mugman with large eyes.

“Almondine here is my finest repairman. He can fix anything in a pinch,” Bon Bon explained. “He doesn’t come for cheap, but I’ll make an exception this time around. What else would you need from me?”

“Frosting,” Cuphead said matter of factly.

Mugman gave him a puzzled look. “Why do we need that?”

“Because the last time I had one of her cakes, it stuck to the roof of my mouth pretty good. I figure that’s the closest thing to glue as we’ll ever get.”

Bon Bon’s pupils shrunk the same time Almondine scurried backwards, fully aware of her temper. He witnessed it flare up as the woman roughly grabbed the boys by the backs of their shirts, lifting them off the floor and stomping towards the entrance.

“Out,” she demanded, booting Cuphead outside. “_Out_,” she added, doing the same to Mugman before the castle gates shut, “and stay out!”

Silence followed after the cartoon-like toss out before the two shared a look, Cuphead appearing dumbfounded while Mugman stared daggers his way.

“‘The closest thing to glue as we’ll ever get’?” He repeated in a deadpanned tone.

“Well it is!”

Mugman’s face returned to his hands. “I want to hurt you so badly. We were so close!”

“Okay, that was a boneheaded move. I admit it.” Cuphead stood and dusted himself off. “I’m sure if we go back inside and apologize a thousand times, she’ll be willing to lend that almond guy to us. Maybe we could even give her some flowers to make up for it.”

“I don’t think she’s in the best mood right now, and Elder Kettle’s probably on his way back. Why can’t we just tell him what we did and apologize for that instead?”

“He may yell.”

Their kettle guardian may have been old-fashioned, but he didn’t believe in spanking a child when they did something wrong. Words were far more brutal than the smack of a hand, he always said, and the closest physical thing he would ever consider was lightly tugging at his boys’ handles as a warning to behave. So when he raised his voice, they knew he wasn’t fooling around.

Mugman hugged an arm around Cuphead’s shoulder, taking the short road back to the first isles. “I don’t like it when he has to yell, either. But like Moe said, ‘better it go the way I suggested than them hiding the mess in the first place.’”

“Yeah…” A lightbulb went off in the red cup’s head. “Yeah. Oh man, yeah! He’s right! C’mon Mugs”—Cuphead grabbed his brother’s hand again and took off running—“I think I know a way out of this mess.”

. . . . . . . .

“This is one of your dumbest ideas ever.”

“You got a better one?”

Cuphead still intended on winning Bon Bon back over so she could lend them Almondine, but until then, hiding the hole was the main priority. The second he and Mugman had gotten home, they covered the outside of the hole with bushes and flowers while covering it from the inside with a painting from upstairs.

Mugman rolled his eyes, hardly believing he’d been talked into the suggestion so easily. “No I don’t have another idea, but I still hate this one.”

Cuphead crossed his arms. “Look, it’s just until we can go back out again. Then we’ll run over to Bon Bon and apologize, get that almond guy over here, and we’re home free.”

_ All this trouble for a hole in the wall_, Mugman thought, squeezing his eyes shut from the headache forming. It was quickly pushed aside at the loud creak of the front door and Elder Kettle’s announcement that he was home.

Scrambling to look like they’d been inside all day, Cuphead and Mugman wound up tripping over one another and silently arguing for the other to get off of him first. When Elder Kettle stepped into the den, his confused look turned into amusement when the pair was able to play off their tumbling as play-wrestling.

“Oh, hi Elder Kettle,” Cuphead greeted, jumping off Mugman and helping him to his feet. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“Y-yeah, how was your trip?” Mugman added, hoping his nerves weren’t obvious in his voice.

“Very good. I hope I wasn’t gone for too long. Are either of you ready for lunch now?”

It’d be crazy to say no after all the running around and repeating themselves to friends and neighbors on a highly sensitive time crunch. Cuphead and Mugman nodded and were sent upstairs to wash up while Elder Kettle put away the few bags he’d taken along with him. While emptying the contents of one, something bright scurried past him.

A ladybug. Three of them climbing up the leg of the coffee table.

_ Well that’s odd_, he thought, gently shooing at the insects with his cane to prompt them to fly off. He knew his home was settled in a woodland area, but seldom would bugs make a temporary camp inside. Checking to see where the spotted trio had come in from directed the elder’s attention to the wayward painting leant against the wall.

He knew he wasn’t that up in age to be forgetful, and he certainly didn’t recall moving any decor before he left. Moving it aside to hang up later revealed the source of the ladybugs’ self invitation: a bush bustling with various flowers and more insects attracted to its scent and colors.

Elder Kettle’s eyes widened at the large, hollow circle the leaves had been trying to conceal, and his lid nearly blew off as he shouted, “Cuphead! Mugman!”

Both rushed downstairs in record time, afraid that their guardian may have gotten hurt. They skidded to a stop in front of him, their concerns overlapping loudly until they realized what the kettle was standing in front of.

He moved to the side and pointed his cane at the bush, giving it a slight poke. “Care to explain how this happened?”

Cuphead and Mugman’s nervous eyes met, sweat forming along the rims of their heads. What else to say but:

“So funny story…”


	10. Helping Hands {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the events of “Funny Story,” Cuphead and Mugman find themselves revisiting those they reached out to for help, and as part of their punishment, they are to spend the whole day offering a hand with their neighbors’ work in order to learn the repercussions for their sneaky actions.

Just before dawn, the skies drew in blended tones of rosy pinks and grainy yellows, being one of plentiful ways to welcome an early morning to Inkwell Isle.

Before the day had started, Elder Kettle was already busy in the kitchen, fully awake and setting up breakfast for three. Because of the surrounding woods, it appeared darker outside than it truly was, and only by the old clock in the den could he tell the difference between the time to sleep and the time to rise. Dawn would come quicker than he thought, and sunlight would reclaim its rightful place.

But in the meantime, he needed to wake a certain duo for the day.

“Cuphead, Mugman, come down to eat!”

It took a moment, but eventually two pairs of slippered feet shuffled downstairs. Fists rubbed at sluggish eyes and long yawns mixed in with a mumbled “good morning.”

“The sooner you boys eat, the sooner you’ll get out there and be done,” Elder Kettle pointed out. “Go on now, dig in.”

Cuphead and Mugman exchanged a tired look at the table and began eating at their own pace, the fresh meal gradually boosting their energy but not entirely their moods. The days following the wall incident hadn’t been forgotten, and for their sake they were lucky that Bon Bon was able to be persuaded into offering Almondine’s services again. She hadn’t lied about the chocolate bar’s pricey fee, but it thankfully hadn’t been too outrageous that it couldn’t be paid upfront, nor had it put a major dent in any personal savings.

And on the topic of “paying,” that’s where Cuphead and Mugman fit in.

They were grounded for three days and had to spend each one doing what they had asked around for from their neighbors and friends: help. Help The Root Pack harvest and grow their seasonal crops, help Beppi set up his tent for business, and help Bon Bon with whatever duties she had going on in her castle that required an extra hand.

If the two were willing to take pains and ask for their specific help, the kettle figured, then the punishment extended beyond doing odd chores at home. He did feel a sliver of guilt for having to wake them so early, but if his boys were ever going to learn consequences for their actions, this was a way to go about it. Once Cuphead and Mugman had washed up and were in their respective red and blue clothes, Elder Kettle gave them each a small bagged lunch, a pat on the head, and the single parting word “behave” as the pair headed out the front door.

Wisps of white clouds lay unmoving in the sky, which was beginning to ripen with a fresh orange color, but neither cup could take time to appreciate the beautiful sunrise. They dragged themselves like the walking dead down the walkway and across the main bridge that connected to the wider parts of the isle.

Mugman caught a yawn in his palm. “How long do you think it’ll take with The Root Pack?” No response. “Cuphead?”

Looking over his shoulder, he saw him seated on a stump a few feet back, arms crossed, mouth in a tight line, and eyes glaring at the ground.

“This is dumb,” he grumbled once Mugman joined his side. “It’s not like we blasted the side of everyone’s homes and have to work to pay it off. We got it fixed, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t tell Elder Kettle what happened right away, and we hid the hole when we got home. I think that’s what he was the most upset about.”

“So what? It’s not like we hid it first and sat around the house ‘til he got back. We went out asking for help, and if we hadn’t, we wouldn’t have found that almond guy through Bon Bon.”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing! This is dumb, I tell you!”

Mugman didn’t have the energy to argue and instead guided Cuphead by the arm the rest of the way. It was much too early to listen to him gripe, and for the next three days, the little mug didn’t think he’d be his usual chipper morning self.

Birdsong grew louder once the boys reached the fenced-in vegetable farm. The ground momentarily trembled in place until Moe dug his way up from underground, grabbing a bag of ACME Grow fertilizer.

“Better late than never,” he said without looking at either Cuphead or Mugman, and the two glanced at each other in confusion. It had to be at least 7 a.m., they both thought, so how was that time considered late? “The wheat was doing fine until last night when somethin’ up and infected them. So Cuphead”—The potato plopped the sack of fertilizer in the child’s unsuspecting arms, ignoring his little grunt of discomfort—“get to weedin’ and composting. Mugman, check on the greens and give ’em water. If they so much as have a spot on their leaves, treat ’em with that organic spray over there. Got it?”

Mugman nodded while Cuphead struggled to stand the heavy bag upright. “Got it.”

“Good. Now hop to it.”

With a nod, the pair set off to complete his assigned task. Aside from getting rid of the harmful weeds and spreading out the fertilizer, Cuphead also had to take care of some knotted boughs that had stretched their way through the fence and realign the wooden signs showing the promised vegetable to sprout soon. He would’ve gotten it done a lot faster (and neater) had Moe not been breathing down his neck the entire time about how to “properly do” this and that.

“They’re just plants!” Cuphead argued when he’d been told he hadn’t correctly evened out the fertilizer again. “We’re gonna eat them in the summer anyway!”

“You wanna have a meal with beans and cucumbers riddled with powdery mildew and anthracnose?” Moe spat back, getting the red cup to immediately shut up, for he had no idea what the last plant disease was or if it was even a real word. “That’s what I thought. Cut those branches away from the fence before they start impaling someone, will you? And fix those signs! If they were any more crooked, they’d be in the Big House.”

“‘If they were any more crooked, they’d be in the Big House,’” Cuphead mocked the large spud under his breath. He blasted the invasive branches with a couple blue shots to save time, continuing to grumble under his breath.

Mugman returned to his own task, having heard the familiar peashooter sound and grew thankful Cuphead wasn’t goofing off. In addition to scanning and watering the vegetable patch, he also had to uproot the stunted cabbages and warn the others about caterpillar-eaten leaves. Though it was a lot to do for someone his size, the chores didn’t seem all that tough to him. He dare even say he was having fun despite having woken up before the birds.

“This isn’t so bad,” Mugman admitted as Weepy taught him how to tend to the seedlings. The sky had since transitioned from a brilliant orange to a pale blue, and a balmy breeze helped rid his previous sleepiness the longer he spent working. “I like being outside.”

“I can tell. You’re a natural green thumb,” Weepy complimented.

The blue-clothed boy continued kneading the soil, a bashful smile popping on his face. “You really think so?”

“I do. If we had you helping each season, every harvest would be incredible.”

Mugman’s glassware flushed a rosy color from the nice words. “Aw gosh, thanks Weepy. I’m doing my best. Maybe when our punishment is over, I could come visit more and lend a hand.”

The onion nodded, his eyes flooding with delighted tears at the happy thought. “I think we’d love that!”

Mugman laughed as his head was gently patted but let out a quick shout at the heavy sound of something bursting in the distance. He turned, almost missing the orange sparks of a charge shot fizzling out in the air beside a cluster of twisted branches trespassing through the fence. Large patches of dirt and roots took up a great part of the farm, and the mug jumped at the sight of Cuphead all dirtied up − from his boots, up to his shirt, and finishing at his face − stalking towards him and Weepy.

Mugman cleared his throat, flicking off a leaf stuck to his brother’s straw. “Um, Cuphead… Maybe next time use your hands to pull the branches and not shots? You wouldn’t be covered in all this mud.”

“I wish this was mud.” Cuphead started wiping himself off in vain. “Farming’s crazy. If I have to fertilize one more thing or pull another branch or straighten another sign, I’ll go nuts.”

“Do we have to leave now? It feels like we haven’t been here for long.”

Psycarrot chuckled. “No worries boys, you’ve done more than enough for today. We don’t want you working too hard, so feel free to take a walk. We’ll take care of the mess and tell your old man how well you behaved.”

“But you both ain’t walking out and dirtying up the isles,” Moe suddenly put in. He looked over at Cuphead. “You especially boy. You look like you’ve seen better days.”

“I don’t see a hose around,” Mugman noted while Cuphead glared at the comment. “How’re we supposed to get clean with no water?”

Moe tugged Weepy close by the stalk, mumbling something at his side. Whatever was said turned on the water works for the rosy-cheeked bulb that rained down on the boys and sent them floating off towards the fence’s entrance. Both were now clean. Damp beyond belief and left a shivering mess, but clean nonetheless.

“Well that’s one way to wash up,” Cuphead muttered, carefully tilting his head to spill out Weepy’s tears. “I think I would’ve preferred keeping all that ‘mud’ over me.”

Mugman did the same. “Bon Bon would’ve kicked us out before we got the chance to say hello if we walked in like that.”

Cuphead froze at the name. “We’re going to see her next?”

“She’s the closest to the entrance of Isle Two. Why?”

_The way the baroness’s eyes flared up from the cheeky comment about one of her cake’s frosting, how forcefully she’d grabbed at them and kicked them out, being grateful that she hadn’t literally lost her head and chucked it after them…_

“Just curious.”

. . . . . . . .

“She’s completely lost it if she thinks I’m gonna stay in this for the rest of the day.”

“_Shh_, Cuphead! Don’t be rude.”

“Rude? Look at us! Now I really want that mud back on me. We look ridiculous!”

When in Bon Bon’s candied domain, one was expected to follow a type of royal dress code or at the very least appear and act presentable in front of her. It was only common courtesy. The minute Cuphead and Mugman were escorted inside by the guards, they had to change clothes upon her orders.

“If you’re going to assist me for the afternoon, the least you boys can do is dress accordingly,” she’d said while one of her seamstresses took their measurements and whisked them off to a private room.

Cuphead finished double-knotting the end of a tablecloth and rolled up the long, wide sleeves of the silky magenta jacket covering him. Its neckline gave a decent view of the refined shirt worn below, a small embroidered belt buckle sucked him in at the waist, and his pants – matching the color of the jacket – was a simple fit that reached down to the leather shoes he’d been given in substitute for his boots. Mugman had on the same attire, but his color scheme was a bright turquoise.

“I can’t wait to be done with this. It’s embarrassing,” Cuphead muttered, folding the ends of the rebellious sleeves that refused to stay upright.

Mugman rolled his eyes and carefully placed a glass dome lid over a pair of honeyed pastries. “You’re being dramatic. No one but Bon Bon and her staff is going to see us like this. Let’s just make sure everything looks nice for her, okay?”

While Bon Bon’s job for Cuphead and Mugman wasn’t as painstaking as handling a vegetable garden, it was equally tiresome even when they had to take their time. She was expecting company from off the mainland, and in honor of the arrival she was holding a small banquet. Everything needed to be perfect, Bon Bon stressed until her pupils dilated. _Everything_, from the floors to the decorations to the treats she’d be serving. Her other servants were taking care of the cleaning and decor, so she left the refreshments to Cuphead and Mugman.

Every cake was a pleasing shape and glazed in the same vibrant shades of pink Bon Bon accented her castle with. Some were spruced up with tiny fruits or sticky caramel sauce, others were classically smoothed down in icing and topped with edible bows.

At first Cuphead had been too bent over having to wear a frilly color and frillier attire to match to focus on all the sweets around him and Mugman. The moment he took a second to stretch was when the aroma of one of the cakes wafted tantalizingly under his nose, similar to the cartoonish beckoning finger of steam you’d see on TV. It was a stunning ombré rosette cake, sprinkled with buttercream and strawberries, and looked absolutely delicious.

Cuphead’s mind whirled with mischief, and when he saw that Mugman wasn’t paying attention, he pinched off a tiny portion for an experimental bite. He was surprised to find how easily the spongy layer gave way, and almost immediately it was followed up with a red velvet flavor and nutty crunch from what he guessed were thinly sliced almonds. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted before.

Before Cuphead knew it, he’d at least three more bites but got caught on a fourth attempt.

“Cuphead! What’re you doing?” Mugman hissed, slapping his hand when he tried reaching for the cake once more. “You’re not supposed to be eating these!”

“There’s hundreds of cakes here. You think Bon Bon’ll blow her wig if just _one_ is missing?”

“Yes!”

The small cup shook his head. “Don’t be such a jitterbug, Mugs. We’ll just tell the staff it got knocked over or something and they’ll bring another one.”

Mugman extended a warning finger. “You better not ruin this floor or Bon Bon will really blow her wig.”

“Relax, I’m not.” Cuphead grabbed one of the forks laid out instead of using his hands, but scowled when his wrist received another slap. “What! We can’t let it go to waste. Here, just have a bite.”

“No! We’re supposed to be helping our neighbors and friends, and if Elder Kettle finds out we misbehaved, we’ll be double grounded before you can say—!”

Not wanting to hear another word, Cuphead shoved the fork in the rambling mouth and watched as Mugman’s eyes went from widening in shock to expanding in awe.

“Holy moly, is that ever good!”

“See? Told ya! Gosh, imagine if all bakeries here on Inkwell sold cakes like this, with ten times more sugar.”

“We’d blow our allowance on it every day, that’s for sure. But we really shouldn’t eat the baroness’s snacks for her party. It wouldn’t be right.” Right after he’d spoken, the soft growl of his stomach made his whole mug go red. “R-really,” Mugman added hurriedly, rubbing the side of his head, “Elder Kettle packed us lunch for a reason.”

Cuphead’s hand was already back on the fork, cutting another piece of cake and holding it out while _tsk_ing under his breath. “I really shouldn’t let my little brother go hungry. It wouldn’t be right.”

All thoughts and reasons to not eat the cake were briefly thrown out the window; within seconds, two sugar-driven minds went at the poor dessert with quick forks. Cake crumbs and smears of icing were all that remained of the once double layered rosette cake. Silence followed, and unblinking eyes stared at the messy plate.

“Oh boy… Cups?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s Bon Bon gonna say when she sees what we did?”

“Why, I don’t know,” came an all too cheerful feminine voice. The pair turned as a tall shadow stretched over them and a bitter grin met their frightened eyes. “Let’s ask her, shall we?” Bon Bon leaned forward on her striped staff, grin slowly flipping upside down. “Anything you have to say to me first boys?”

Cuphead pushed the tips of his fingers together and looked to Mugman, who was staring at his feet. “Uh… Thanks for not letting the frosting stick to the roofs of our mouths this time?”

Cue the famous toss out.

. . . . . . . .

Walking into Beppi’s tent was like entering a wonderland. You had no idea what would strike first – being impressed or being driven to insanity. Something quite physically did the striking on Cuphead’s dome the minute he and Mugman pushed back the curtains.

An apple.

“Whoops! Sorry there lad!” Both glanced up to see the red-and-blue clown on a pair of stilts…walking a trapeze rope…while juggling three other apples with one hand. “Still a little rusty! I can never do four at a time.”

With great speed, Beppi leapt off the shaky rope and landed in a near-split position on the ground.

“You’re not thinking of getting revenge for the bump on the head, are you?” He asked Cuphead, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “A word of advice, whenever fighting off a posse of clowns”—He pointed at his throat—“always aim for the juggler.”

Beppi wheezed out a laugh at the pun, and so things wouldn’t be awkward, Cuphead and Mugman quietly joined in.

“Hi again Beppi,” Mugman greeted while the clown put away whatever he’d been trying to do before company showed up. “We hope we’re not too late to help you set up.”

“Oh no, you boys are fine. Much better than my old math teacher when I was your age. She always took the rhombus.”

A genuine chuckle escaped Mugman’s mouth at the wordplay while Cuphead stared on in confusion, said numerical subject not his strongest in school. The jokes were eventually put aside as Beppi gave each brother something to do while he handled the more important stuff, like checking on the rides and seatbelts, himself.

Cuphead had to polish the bumper cars and blow up balloons while Mugman was to make sure the entranceway was clean and the objects Beppi was going to juggle were in good condition. Objects ranging from the usual balls to bowling pins and small clubs, that is. Inkwell residents knew better than to question the clown’s intentions, lest they want to leave with a headache.

“Hey Beppi, what were you trying to do when we came in?” Mugman asked, lining up the even number of juggling items in a box.

“Just practicing a new little gimmick I’ve been wanting to try for some time now. It’s nearly perfect, but ‘nearly’ won’t cut it for this clown. It’s gotta be gold!”

“I’m scared to ask what involves four apples and you on a tightrope,” Cuphead muttered, tying up the last of the entertainer’s usual pink and brown balloon dogs.

However, his attempt at making a tail didn’t sit right with the inflatable pup and it refused to be attached to a string until it was fixed. Cuphead was just as stubborn and refused to spend any more breath huffing and puffing to please it.

“Sit you mangy mutt,” he flatly commanded, snatching it by the stubby rear and knotting a string around it. The balloon animal bared its teeth at the rude nickname and unexplainably started expanding its size, causing Cuphead to scramble back. “Good boy, n-nice boy. You want a treat, little fella?”

At this point, a couple other rubbery companions sided with the larger one, copying its angry expression and size and surrounding Cuphead at every angle. He held up his hands, circling around to meet all the pairs of eyes on him.

“_Heh-heh_, hey guys. Um… Play dead?”

Not liking the command, the balloons enveloped him in an uncomfortable elastic heap, the only thing visible being his hand frantically trying to push away man’s best friend as well as to get Beppi or Mugman’s attention. While Cuphead was practically being swallowed in the background by the stretchy hounds, Mugman and Beppi’s previous conversation continued.

“So you like stilts better?”

“A little. Unicycles are overrated. I want to stand out for the crowd with something fresh, something that’ll make them go, ‘golly, do I wanna…’ Oh no, not now,” Beppi suddenly said, brushing off Cuphead’s gloved hand rapidly tapping on his shoulder. “Something that’ll make people go, ‘golly, I sure wanna visit this tent again!’”

“I think it’d be neat to be shot from a canon, or maybe even leap off a trampoline to get up there. I remember when—”

Mugman’s handle was roughly tugged from behind, and considering where he was, he didn’t find it all that odd to see a pal of the clown’s dressed in balloon animals. With a small ‘oh,’ he handed the flapping hand one of the bowling pins and turned back to Beppi, completely missing the limb dropping it and making a strangling motion at the back of his head.

“I remember when Elder Kettle took me and Cups to our very first circus, and there were knife throwers and lion tamers and guys bending their bodies all funny… We had a blast!”

Beppi grinned at the shared memory. “That’s exactly the reaction I’m hoping to get with my next act. Daring, fun, new! I want it to be a real riot for the kiddies and have them saying to their folks—”

“Someone get me outta here!”

“Exactly! ‘Someone get me outta…’ Wait.”

Three piercing pops echoed in the air, causing the dogs that hadn’t faced the peashooter to yelp and hurriedly float behind Beppi to hide. Cuphead was thrown on his knees from the sudden movement, bits of balloon stuck to his straw and shirt. Never again would he take breathing fresh air for granted.

Holding an armful of frightened pink and brown pups, Beppi shook his head. “Cuphead, I get you’re a whiz at hide-and-seek, but you’ll never win if you spook the poor things. Have you been spending all this time playing games?”

The boy went wide-eyed at the clown’s obliviousness to his being held hostage to the animals, and the expression stayed as he picked himself up, dusted off his shirt, and stomped out the carnival tent. He didn’t stop until he heard Mugman’s calls to wait up and felt the latter’s arm around him, bringing him close in enough excitement that made his eyes roll.

“Beppi says he’ll tell Elder Kettle how good we were today. And boy, what a day! We sure had a gay old time with our friends, huh Cuphead?”

“Yeah,” he spat through gritted teeth, fists clenched at his sides. “What a time.”

“I can’t wait to do it all again tomorrow and the day after!”

If Cuphead had a drink in hand, he’d spit it out. “_Huh?_”

“Yeah, didn’t you know? We’re grounded for two more days.” Mugman sighed at the returning look of shock on his brother’s face. “Weren’t you listening to Elder Kettle? He wants us helping out everyone we went to and says we oughta lend a hand for bothering them when they were busy.”

“We’re stuck…getting muddy, wearing stupid outfits…and running from whacky balloon animals…for _two_ more days?”

Mugman playfully flicked his red-and-white straw. “That’s the working spirit.”


	11. Midnight Thrill {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a small way of celebrating their returning freedom from three days of being grounded, Cuphead convinces Mugman to go along with him on a familiar adventure.

Inkwell Isle at last got the chance to cool off once night fell. Long evening shadows stretched into the gathering darkness while the air stilled, prompting bugs to chatter beneath a starry sky clumping all sorts of constellations and single shiners in a group to help them glow brighter.

A thin ribbon of smoke snaked out of the old chimney of the Elder Kettle’s home, and inside sat the very fireplace flickering after hours of breaking down its log dinner. The clock in the corner of the den chimed twelve times, the sound traveling up to the second floor and into a certain shared bedroom.

Cuphead’s eyes opened after the fourth _ding_, a grin springing onto his face as he reached under his pillow to grab a flashlight he’d hidden earlier that day.

“Mugman, you up?” He whispered, shining the beam over. When given no response, he hopped out of bed to shake his shoulder. “_Psst_, buddy. C’mon, up and at ’em. It’s already—”

A small battle cry startled him from behind as he was tackled onto the bed. It wasn’t Mugman under the covers, but instead clumped up pillows giving the illusion that he’d been sleeping. The pair wrestled around for a minute, laughing into the blankets so they wouldn’t be too loud.

“You little rascal, playin’ all dirty!” Cuphead whispered, playfully punching Mugman’s arm. “How long were you hiding?”

“Long enough. Payback for scaring me so much when we camped outside that one time, remember?” Mugman held out a hand. “Consider us even.”

Cuphead pulled him close and lightly rapped his knuckles against his mug-shaped head. “Even? _Ha!_ There’s no such word for me. I’ll get you back later. Now let’s get going before we wake Hilda.”

It would take a while before Elder Kettle allowed the pair to stay home by themselves, so he hadn’t had to do much in the past few days where they spent half the mornings and afternoons helping others around the isles with their respective duties. But when Cuphead and Mugman’s jobs were completed early, it was the kettle’s turn for work. However, this time around wasn’t his usual 10 to 15 minute outings on the mainland and instead required an overnight stay with a few other merchants he’d worked alongside in the past.

These were extremely rare cases in which he refused to leave the two home alone, but it had been so sudden and he knew they must’ve been tired from their tasks. So he’d had The Root Pack check in on them throughout the day while Hilda agreed to look after them at night, promising to return early the next morning.

After the family of three had exchanged their hugs and goodbyes, Elder Kettle hoped the time his boys spent working would help them reflect on their mischief, but of course he knew it wouldn’t be long until another troublesome opportunity came up.

And tonight, opportunity was knocking extra loud.

Hilda’s faint snores sounded from the next room over, filling Cuphead and Mugman with relief that the usual nocturnal woman’s energy was low this particular night. It made sneaking downstairs, grabbing a hidden bag from one of the cupboards, and tiptoeing out the house ten times easier.

The stars shone down on them as if saying hello and lit a helpful path towards the connected woods. The familiar trees and rocks the boys loved to climb in the daytime took on new and ominous forms beneath the black sky, but they weren’t scared. With flashlights, starlight and a brother to hold hands with along the way, nothing could make them afraid.

“Can you tell me the surprise now?” Mugman whispered. “You’ve been keeping quiet all day. I wanna know where we’re going.”

Cuphead laughed, helping him over a sturdy log. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore. You gotta be patient.”

“I know, a hint then. Just give me a tiny little hint. Or I can get three guesses.”

“Mugs no, not yet.”

It may not have sounded like it, but Cuphead was filled to the brim with exhilaration just as much as Mugman. It took a lot of persuading and begging to get the latter to agree to go out in a sort of celebratory fashion − “We should do something fun. We’re not grounded anymore!” Cuphead had reasoned, to which a doubtful Mugman replied with, “No, but we will be _again_ if Elder Kettle finds out.”

Cuphead understood why Mugman had been so hesitant, but he knew the instant deal breaker had been mentioning a wonderful secret place he promised to show him if he could keep it a secret. Staying up at such a late time was one thing, but sneaking out of the house was something on a completely different spectrum.

Still, Mugman would be lying if he said curiosity hadn’t wildly filled his mug and pumped his little heart with interest.

“What’s the secret place?” He’d asked in a hushed tone when it was Psycarrot’s turn to visit.

“Can’t say,” Cuphead had whispered back. “Wait ‘til midnight and I’ll take you there.”

Now as midnight marched steadily over Inkwell and the air was cooler than it had been the previous day, the boys’ energy was renewed faster than the sunlight could provide. Their small talk went on for a couple minutes until the path halted and the yawning mouth of a cave appeared.

This was definitely not what Mugman was expecting, and his tone copied his letdown thoughts in a mixture of confusion and unease when he asked, “A…cave?”

“Yeah! Well not just any cave, _the_ cave. I found It when Elder Kettle let me play in the woods while you stayed at home.” Cuphead shined his flashlight into the entrance, remembering that spike of adrenaline when he was engulfed in a chilling blackness the second he stepped in. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Um, sure?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll see why I love this place. C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

Cuphead took Mugman’s hand and led him inside, not seeing the latter’s wide-eyed reaction nor feeling the hand in his start to tremble. Mugman had seen darkness before, like the type that came just before sunrise or the kind that encouraged you to fall asleep. This darkness wasn’t like any of those things.

It was one that robbed you of your senses, the one older kids described as the boogeyman’s favorite thing to lurk in. The little mug had had his share of fears growing up − thunderstorms, heights, enclosed spaces − but above all, he hated when there was no light in an unknown place.

“Cuphead, I-I really don’t think we should be here,” Mugman shakily whispered. His nose bopped against the cup’s handle, making him jump at how close he was trailing behind him. “We could get lost.”

“We won’t get lost. I’ve been here a—” Cuphead cut himself off, knowing he’d only ventured into the cavern once and not ‘a million times’ like he planned on boasting. “We won’t get lost,” he repeated instead. “Relax, I know where we’re going.”

Paths were obscured by fallen rocks, some sloping at upward angles Cuphead couldn’t recall seeing or not. Vines and deep cracks wormed their way up the walls, some creating weird designs, others meshed together, making him wonder if they were hiding something.

_Might as well find out_, he thought with a grin, tugging Mugman closer behind him as they both trekked up to one of the openings. It was the calling card of adventure; whatever was ahead would be a great challenge for the both of them.

In the pitch black, Mugman could feel his pounding heart eventually calm to a comfortable pace when a sprinkle of light bloomed in the distance. As he and Cuphead inched closer, their flashlights shining feebly towards the source, they soon glanced at one another in confusion. Up ahead were two jagged and uneven boulders standing guard for some type of entranceway, and when the pair braved in between the large stones, they were forced to stop when an abrupt ledge blocked off access to something incredible way out of arm’s length.

An enormous waterfall ran coolly from an unknown source, guiding large and small pools of brilliant blue to flow in several directions. Jutting out the collective water below were more boulders, each adorning tiny crystallized shards of frozen over liquid, twinkling and reflecting pastel colors as the water rushed over them.

Mugman peered down, observing the dizzying drop below and then up to the ceiling that’s height stretched to infinity.

“Golly… She _is_ beautiful. How’d you find this place? We’ve played out here a bunch of times but never found something this exciting.”

Cuphead shook his head in wonder. “I never knew it was here. I just stumbled across it. Pretty neat, huh?”

“Really neat! What else is around here?”

“Can’t say. I didn’t have a lot of time to explore and I’m sure its gots lots of cool stuff…” Cuphead purposely trailed off, a sly grin snaking on his mouth as he nudged Mugman’s shoulder and rushed off. “…that I’m gonna get to first!”

“Wha−! Hey, no fair you cheater!”

Laughter bounced around as the two raced one another to explore the cave further. They left gloved imprints and funny messages in the dust-caked rock walls; they found more gravelly ledges to hop across in a safe but still daring and fun way; and the pebbles they’d collected along the way were either sculpted into tiny castles or were skipped across whatever other water sources they could find.

They eventually set themselves and their findings down for a rest, the only sounds that met them was their calm breathing and faint dripping of a hidden leak somewhere far, far from where they sat. Cuphead lay on his back, flipping the beautiful stone he found so long ago in his hand and watching its unique colors go from caramel to the swirls of green and yellow and back again.

“I’m so glad we live on isle one,” he said almost dreamily, tossing the rock higher and higher. “We don’t have to deal with all the noise the other two have.”

Mugman looked over from the shadow puppets he was making on the walls. “Yeah, it’s more peaceful where we live. I love visiting the city with Elder Kettle and going to the fun fair with you, but we wouldn’t have big adventures like this”—He gestured with his flashlight’s beam—“if we lived there instead.”

“We’re the lucky ones.” Cuphead tossed the pebble one more time before putting it in the bag they brought along. “You think Elder Kettle would like it here if we showed him?”

“I’m not sure. He probably wouldn’t want to go too far in since it’s so dark, but maybe someday we could bring him out and have a picnic. We could tell him about our adventures.”

“And we could show him the cool things we found and maybe give some to him as presents,” Cuphead added, packing away the miniature cave findings and tying the bag around his wrist. “But then he might think we’re making the cave all up and think we found everything in the woods instead.”

Mugman smiled, hugging him close by the shoulder. “That’s okay. We’ll know it was real − a real fun adventure. But they gotta end at some point, so we should probably head back before Hilda wakes for a drink of water or to check on us.”

A canopy of starlight now materialized in the moonless night. Somewhere on the first isle, a lake glistened and mirrored the dazzling assemblage of the glittering lights. The faint breeze ruffled the still leaves of the trees, casting shadows along the two little figures sneaking through the maze of nature on their journey back home.

“Hey Cuphead? Thanks for letting me tag along. I had a lot of fun.”

His usual determined or cheeky grin was replaced with a bashful, dopey smile as his cup turned a light shade of scarlet. He hugged his younger sibling closer, nodding into the night.

“No problem pal.”


	12. Clip Joint Curiosity {Cuphead & Mugman, Ribby & Croaks}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ribby and Croaks are back in town and invite Cuphead and Mugman to spend an evening on their passenger boat. All goes well with the food, music, and the four pals catching up with each other − especially the live entertainment.

Classical music filled the air without much effort from the phonograph, the notes relaxing Elder Kettle and enabling the song to call to his nostalgia.

Memories of summers gone past in his great-grandfather’s rose garden flowed through him with ease; recollections of roaming the golden, brown and green patches of the countryside with old friends before there was thought of a city enticed a small chuckle; and of course, the further he allowed the music to guide him, the more he smiled. He could practically hear the laughter of his boys as they returned home with new stories of woodland adventures, clothes stained with mud but their smiles excusing the fact of how messy they had played.

Above the soothing tune, speedy footsteps tapped downstairs, prompting the kettle to open his eyes. Cuphead and Mugman stood in front of him, rocking on the heels of their boots with their arms behind their backs and hopeful grins on their faces.

Now they were either expecting a yes to whatever it was they wanted, or they had just broken something.

“Yes, boys?”

“Can we go see Ribby and Croaks tonight?” Cuphead immediately asked.

“The boat’s docked again and they won’t be cruising until Thursday,” Mugman added.

As if practiced, both clasped their hands and gave the elder a doe-eyed look.

“Well, I don’t know…”

It wasn’t that Elder Kettle disliked the wood frog brothers, and he would never judge the background they’d come from. It was just that their boxing career and vocabulary didn’t sit too well with his old-fashioned morals, and he really didn’t want Cuphead and Mugman to be subject to casual cussing and violence. He knew he couldn’t baby them forever and knew they’d be influenced by certain things sooner or later, but he didn’t want those days to start while they were still so young and ignorant of it all.

Cuphead and Mugman’s begging eyes amped up. “Please?” They asked together, hugging onto either side of their guardian.

“We haven’t seen them in forever and they said next time they got a break, we could come visit,” Cuphead explained.

Mugman nodded along to each word, bouncing on his toes. “They’ve got a whole new band on board that’ll play for them tonight! Some real snazzy sync… Uh, sync-ca…?”

“Syncopators?” Elder Kettle said for him. “Those folks who play that fast music you boys like. What is it? Jazz?”

“Yeah, real hot!” Mugman exclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

“Oh well, I guess some like it hot. I prefer my classical music.”

Cuphead impatiently tapped on the arm of the rocking chair. “So can we go? Please Elder Kettle? Mugs and I won’t cause trouble.”

“You boys will listen to Ribby and Croaks and won’t wander off?”

“Yes!” The pair promised.

“Hm… Very well. But I don’t want you out later than ten o’clock. Understood?”

Cuphead and Mugman nodded vigorously and kissed the kettle’s cheeks. “Understood!”

At 7 o’clock on the dot, the sun sank lower in the sky, offering an amber glow of the beginning twilight hours. Crickets chirped, and the first buzz of mosquitoes came out the same time Cuphead and Mugman raced down their home’s walkway and towards the quiet bay that docked the famous passenger boat. Not many Inkwell residents occupied the bustling nightclub within − either due to time, it just not being their style, or not having enough funds for a ticket − so the joint was usually populated by flies.

As well as the very renowned amphibian boxers. It was extremely rare for the boat to stop at a single place for longer than one day and one night. Cuphead and Mugman had lucked out, and as they were escorted inside by a stocky fly bouncer, they knew the night would be one they’d never forget.

An instantaneous contrast from outside unfolded before their eyes. The heat of the evening was replaced by the cool breezes waiters created by their wings, zipping from table to table. The bar and restaurant sections were packed with lively customers, both sober and soused. A live band played for twin dancers on stage, soft lighting ran along the ceiling, and loud jokes so stupid they were brilliant topped the night off.

“_Murder…!_ I don’t know where to start,” Cuphead breathed out, a rush of excitement buzzing through him like a Cola bottle.

“How about sitting with Ribby and Croaks?” Mugman suggested, pointing to an elevated part of the eating section where the frogs were waving them over.

“Well, if it ain’t Cuphead and Mugman!” Croaks called aloud, high-fiving the boys while his brother patted them on the back.

“Long time no see, huh fellas?” Ribby seconded, making room for the pair to sit in between him and Croaks.

Both spoke with a heavy urban accent mixed with a slight foreign tongue that puzzled anyone who attempted to guess where they were from. They could seem a bit intimidating at first, what with their booming voices and large sizes, but really the frogs were good guys and very fun to be around. 

Cuphead excitedly leaned forward, palms pressed on the table. “It has been too long. What’s the word on you guys? Any new fights lately?”

Ribby waved a gloved hand in the air, his shaking head contradicting to his smug grin. “A couple oddballs here and there, but they were all plenty rugged, lemme tell ya.”

“Too bad they couldn’t do squat,” Croaks put in, being the first to take a swig of the potent drink one of the servers brought to the table for the frogs. The fly set down two small bottles of root beer for Cuphead and Mugman. “Ribby here though, _sheesh_… Socked ’em clean on their feet in two minutes flat.”

“Golly, two minutes?” Mugman repeated in amazement.

“Is that his personal best?” Cuphead teased.

“Personal best? Please, I’ve run through amateurs faster than Croaks here’s run through pretty little dames.”

“Ay, cut that adult talk out in front of ’em,” the brown frog warned quietly, nodding at the puzzled faces from the informal way of addressing a woman. “Can’t have ’em asking their old man what the heck’s a dame. Anyways boys,” he said aloud, “the point is we’ve had no real challenges and we’re keepin’ it like that.”

“No real challenges?” Cuphead pointed a thumb to his puffed out chest. “How about us? We’re always on the lookout for some fun.”

Croaks chuckled under his breath and returned to his drink. “You boys got fighting spirit, but it wouldn’t be fair to you both if you fought us now. We’ve been out on this boat a lot more lately, clashin’ and whatnot. And you… I dunno, what do kids be doin’ nowadays? Chasing butterflies? Climbing trees?”

“We’re not scared. Are we, Mugman?”

Au contraire, Mugman actually was a bit frightened by Ribby and Croaks’ skills and saw no reason to go after them just for fun. He nearly spat out his root beer when his name was out Cuphead’s mouth and was so close to rejecting, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself or his brother − especially in front of the pros.

“No way! We aren’t afraid,” Mugman backed him up. “Especially Cups. He can dish it out with the best of them with his eyes closed.”

Ribby nodded in approval, holding his mitt up again. “That’s what I like to hear. Slap me one, kid!”

After the high-five, the four clinked their drinks together and chugged the contents down, letting out a simultaneous belch. They temporarily strayed from the talk of brawling to finally order a meal (specially on the house for the two competitors and each of their “plus ones”), then when the food was piled on the table, the fight talk returned tenfold in between bites.

Ribby and Croaks shared their latest techniques of avoiding sleeper holds and how to come back after a knockout while Cuphead and Mugman traded their own wrangle stories from when they were little. Of course they never lasted longer than twenty seconds if Elder Kettle was around to lift a tot off the other, but the stories still got some laughs out from both sides.

“That’s good, starting out young,” Ribby commented, taking a sip from his third or fourth drink of the night. “Keep practicing and maybe next year we’ll take you onboard around the isles for a whole night of brawlin’.”

Cuphead and Mugman glanced at each other, practically about to explode from excitement and not too sure about the offer respectively.

“You really mean it?” They asked in either thrilled or surprised tones.

Ribby laughed. “If you can swing like no tomorrow, then why not?”

“I’m quoting you on that,” Cuphead stated, his pointer finger arrow-straight in warning. “Don’t you forget.”

Mugman smiled at him, secretly hoping the frogs would forget about the deal or that they weren’t actually serious. He would’ve loved to spend more time on the boat with them some day, but sport or not he wasn’t that comfortable with watching or engaging in fighting. Cuphead could explore it to his heart’s content, but his little blue pal greatly preferred cheering him on from the sidelines.

The growing darkness outside one of the windows caught Mugman’s attention. “Hey, what time is it?”

Croaks glanced at something in the distance. “Half past nine, why?”

“Elder Kettle wants us back by ten.”

“Oh, then you’ve got plenty of time ‘til then before the show!” Ribby assured them.

Cuphead and Mugman exchanged confused looks, with the former asking, “What kind of show?”

Loose saxophone jazz met the air while a handful of ceiling lights dimmed so they wouldn’t contrast with the main spotlight pointed at the stage. The identical fly dancers had long since finished their routine, and in their place were eight butterflies. Not just any butterflies. _Flapper_-themed butterflies.

And while their dazzling silver dresses were more on the safe side for the night, each insect’s pretty wings, cute faces, and dainty makeup nevertheless made Cuphead and Mugman’s face beet red.

“Oh… That kind of show,” Mugman squeaked out.

As the music began, so did the dancers. They clicked their heels, swayed their hips, and twisted their bodies. Every time they hopped or skipped, they’d float weightlessly back down like they were made of silk. The butterflies’ joy and laughter spread to their entire audience, and sometimes the band would tease them by picking up the pace or slowing down.

“Man, I love that sax,” Croaks said as if in a trance. “If I had time to learn that instrument, you know I would.”

“You can have the saxophone. I’ll take the cutie with the pink wings,” Ribby declared, having caught her eye and making her giggle and blush when he’d thrown a wink her way. “Think I’ll take a closer look if you fellas don’t mind.”

Cuphead and Mugman were in a bit of a hypnotic state themselves, and it wasn’t until Croaks went after his brother to “make sure he didn’t embarrass himself” that they snapped out of it.

Cuphead, after forcing the blush out of his cheeks, waved a hand. “Uh, _pssh_, big deal. We see lots of gals around Inkwell, don’t we?”

“No, they’re different,” the little mug guaranteed, a faraway look in his eyes.

“Why? ‘Cause they’re not wearing stockings under their skirts? I’m tellin’ ya, they’re no different than the ones we see…on…?”

Cuphead’s broken up sentence was a result of a purple boa feather scarf slowly wrapping around him, and when he looked up, his tiny nose was met with a big kiss as one of the butterflies giggled into her hand and fluttered off, leaving him the scarf.

Hearts swarmed his eyes as he rested his chin in his hands. “_Heh_, guess they are kinda different.”

Mugman laughed at the reaction, but it was cut short when his hand was taken by a flapper with light blue wings. It didn’t dawn on him what she was doing until another, this one with ruby wings, flew to the opposite side and took his other hand.

They wanted him to dance with them.

“Oh no, I…I can’t, n-no thank you,” the poor flustered boy stammered in vain as the paired dancers escorted him to the front and helped him onstage.

The ladies held tight and began repeatedly moving their legs inwards and outwards in time to the beat, throwing their free arm out to the side and grinning down at Mugman. The moves weren’t anything too hard or embarrassing for him; it was trying to get over the initial shock that two pretty little thangs had unexpectedly chosen him and _only_ him to accompany them on the stage.

He hesitantly started copying the moves, slow at first, and soon got into a pace he could keep up with. The six remaining butterflies whooped in unison, startling him, and began separating into two groups of three to join in. Everyone in the audience was cheering and clapping for the now nine dancers, and in due time the instruments squealed out a long, final note that ended with a clash of the cymbals.

Applause and hollering were twice as loud as the two butterflies that had chosen Mugman lifted him up, and along with the others, kissed some part of his face. Like a tea kettle, his entire mug steamed from heat, his straw nearly jumped out of his head, and he collapsed in a lovestruck heap in all eight arms.

. . . . . . . .

“Welcome back boys. Did you have a good—”

Now at the sound of the front door opening, Elder Kettle had half expected Cuphead and Mugman to run inside, hyped up on whatever sugary drinks and desserts that boat was sure to have in stock for the sweet tooths, overlapping one another to get to his own favorite part of the night. He definitely was not expecting them to shuffle in, grinning dazedly with their faces decorated in bright lipstick.

“Boy did we,” Cuphead answered the unfinished question, speaking and moving like he was dizzy in love. He pulled Mugman in close. “Mugs here got to dance with some pretty butterflies with the band. Everyone was clappin’ and cheering for him.”

Mugman nodded to every word, lost in his daydreams as they played back the fun time he had on that stage. “Yup, what a dance…”

Elder Kettle shook his head and chuckled in a bit of uncertainty, not knowing the full events of what the two had done that night, but as long as they were happy and filled to the brim with wonderful memories, he didn’t mind.

“Well I’m certainly glad you boys enjoyed yourselves tonight, but it’s getting late.” He ushered them towards the staircase with his cane. “Come on now, off to bed.”

Cuphead stretched, grinning up at his guardian. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep. We had so much fun Elder Kettle! We wish you could’ve been there. The food was so tasty, we talked about fighting all night, and the band… _Man_, I love that sax. If I had time to learn that instrument, you know I would.”

“You can have the saxophone.” Mugman hid the side of his mouth with his hand, whispering in a mock Urban accent, “I’ll take the cutie with the pink wings.”

The brothers just about collapsed in a fit of laughter, racing the other upstairs to get ready for bed. It would take a bit of time for the hype to fizzle out their systems in order to get some shut eye, but one thing was for sure:

They wouldn’t be forgetting about the best night of their lives for a long time.


	13. The Show Must Go On {Cuphead & Sally Stageplay} 1/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sally’s child falls ill before showtime, she turns to Cuphead to save the night. With few lines to memorize, how hard could it be?

“My dear madame, did I ever tell you how much I despise that hat?”

Sally scowled at the red cup, who simply grinned back. He meant no harm from his quip but found it necessary to point out the ridiculously large headdress practically swallowing the woman whole.

“There’s something not right about its size,” Cuphead continued, swinging his feet off the stool he sat on. “Maybe if we toss something over it, nobody’ll notice it!”

Sally huffed and adjusted the piece over her pale blonde curls. “I’ll have you know ladies have always been immaculately dressed. If there’s one thing we’re keen at, it’s having a good eye for nothing but the finest silks, headwear, and to-die-for dresses.”

“To-die-for dresses? I will never understand girls. No need to croak over some skirts and stockings.”

“One more crack like that,” the actress warned, wagging her finger like a scolding schoolteacher, “and I’ll banish you from backstage for as long as you live.”

Cuphead grabbed for his own hat to hover over his straw and dipped it with a flourish. “Whatever you say, my dear big-hatted madame. I’ll make myself presentable and _sally_ on forth.”

He hopped off the stool to wander around some more, then suddenly paused mid-step and took a crumpled flower out of his pocket.

“Oh yeah, Mugman wanted me to give this to you. He would’ve come to say hi, but he’s not feeling too hot. He says good luck, too.”

“No no, not good luck. You mean ‘break a leg’.”

“Sheesh, has the theater always been this violent?”

Sally shook her head and took the flower, kissing the top of Cuphead’s forehead where an outline of her lips appeared. “Give Mugman that for me and tell him I hope he feels better soon.”

“Okay, but I’m gonna need a lot of lipstick if you want me to pass it on like that.”

Sally waved Cuphead away as he continued poking around before showtime. Not a lot of people were allowed backstage while the cast was preparing for opening night, and Sally was especially strict with having distractions disrupt her. But whenever it came to the cup brothers, she had a slight bias exception. They couldn’t always stick around backstage, though sometimes if they weren’t disruptive and behaved, they could sit and watch others rehearse.

Though Cuphead had been and currently was being a bit too chatty for her liking, having already made multiple comments about the costumes, props, and now her favorite hat! Sally adjusted the headpiece tighter over her hair and turned to the mirror, putting herself in her own world and running over her lines in her head with growing confidence.

“Sally?”

She turned at the call of her name and smiled as her husband sped up to her.

“Come to wish me the best once again, honey?”

“Of course, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Our little pride and joy, you see, won’t be in the show tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“The doctor says it’s nothing more than the common cold and not to worry, and that with plenty of rest and love—”

“An audience favorite will be amiss!” Sally began pacing from her vanity to the costume rack and back, hands clasped to her chest. “Oh, this is terrible… And we’ve all been working so hard and have been so patient, you know. Everyone out there is going to be disappointed if we can’t go on, and you know I won’t allow that. You don’t think we’ll have to wipe any tears at home, do you?”

Being married to a stage actress, Otto Stageplay was no stranger to theatrical performances in both his wife’s career and her personality. He knew how dramatic she could get from the tiniest inconveniences to the biggest strokes of luck. Her rambling now was understandable, but he wouldn’t let it shake up her professionalism before a show.

“Sally my love, take some deep breaths,” Otto encouraged, reassuringly pecking her cheek. “We’ll find a way to fix this.”

“How? We haven’t an understudy for our own child.”

Sally chewed her bottom lip, worried that she may have to put a pin in the show without her character’s main supporting factor. Then she paused, glanced to the side, and with a voice laced in sweetness and prickled with mystery, asked:

“Oh Cuphead my dear boy, how would you like to make your grand stage debut this evening?”

Cuphead’s attention whipped away from a telescope he was playing with. “Debut?”

“Of course. I know how rambunctious and ambitious you are, and I think that sort of energy is just what the audience needs tonight. We’ll give them something new, something daring.” Sally bopped the boy’s red nose. “And you’re just that.”

“Gee, thanks for the offer. But I’m no good for a show. I prefer watching ’em—”

“Nonsense!” The blonde squished the dish close to her side, almost knocking the breath out of him. “Acting may be a constantly growing and perfected art, but everyone starts somewhere. Why, you’ll be headlining so young tonight and then… My goodness, you’ll go on to so much more outside of Inkwell Isle. Bigger stages, bigger riches, brighter opportunities.”

Stars were beginning to form in Cuphead’s eyes at such talk with, of course, the mention of fortune being the main influencer. Unbeknownst to him, while she’d been talking Sally had rushed him around the room, blotting makeup on him and fitting tiny accessories around his gloves when he was the most distracted.

And distracted he was.

“Hot dog! I gotta admit, that does sound pretty cool.”

“Doesn’t it?” Sally cooed out, placing a blonde wig over the cup-shaped head. “You’ll be doing my poor little girl a huge favor, and you’re just her dress size. Now come with me and we can see about those lines.”

“Ha! Mugs is going to be so jealous when he sees me—” Realization hit Cuphead like a freight train. “In a _dress?_”


	14. The Show Must Go On {Cuphead & Sally Stageplay} 2/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with a role he cannot back out of, Cuphead’s stage debut is underway — just not in the way Sally quite envisioned it.

In Inkwell Isle Three’s theater, there was a diverse audience of the usual city dwellers, residents as far as the first isles, and even some famous toons in the mood for a good show outside of their own overworlds. Seated close to the front were Mugman and Elder Kettle, both wondering about Cuphead’s whereabouts.

“You don’t think he’s skipping out on Sally’s performance, do you?” Mugman asked quietly.

“Now that doesn’t sound like him. He loves visiting the theater as much as you,” Elder Kettle pointed out. “Perhaps he’s using the bathroom.”

Yet the minutes ticked on, space in the back gradually filled up, and still there was no sign of the cup. Mugman clicked the heels of his boots in a nervous habit, glancing around for a red-and-white straw to come bouncing over, but soon the lights dimmed and a respectable hush fell over the crowd.

“I sure hope he can find us in the dark,” he whispered to his guardian.

The curtains rose in time to the soft hum of string instruments, revealing Sally center stage in a white dress modeled after the late 1890s. Her hair was parted in the center and curled at the temples, accentuating the beauty of her pale skin, and in a practiced English accent she began:

“_From the sun’s golden birth to the waning of its light, the woman who has all indeed has her plights._

_Though there is one I love in the way she finds and embraces. Invading my mind through the night in tireless foot races._”

After about three beats, nothing changed. Improvisation was a big part of theater when something unintentionally went wrong, but that was usually it − something happened without intention. Sally knew Cuphead wasn’t coming out on purpose and absolutely would not have that delay the show. She signaled an inconspicuous cue to one of the stagehands able to see her, the worker noticing it and sending out a couple nature-themed props to distract the crowd from Sally inching to the side and grabbing at a body trying to run away.

Cuphead all but landed on his face, the heels he’d been forced to wear clicking loudly. Different reds and pinks of blush, eyeshadow, and lipstick decorated his porcelain; he wore a light yellow blouse and a white billowing skirt; and a sunhat with a wide floppy brim sat atop the blonde wig hiding his straw. His eyes doubled in size at the packed theater.

_Geeze, I know Sally has lots of fans_, he thought, _but this is overdoing it!_

Speaking of Sally, the woman cleared her throat loud enough for him to hear. Gritting his teeth, Cuphead begrudgingly started his own lines in an accented high-pitched voice.

“Oh Mother, Fair Mother, tall and bright. What queries do you have in your dreams tonight?”

“_Her words soothe me more than any courter could do, and yet somehow, someway, woes come anew._

_She sings me tunes on piano, writes me letters of passion. Though they’re threaded in spirit, worry still leaves me ashen._”

“Oh Mother, Fair Mother, why so soon? It’s picnic days, a time for joy in the month of June. And I wish this was over soon,” Cuphead muttered the last part.

Those close to the stage chuckled to themselves when they heard this, yet Sally misinterpreted their laughter and nudged Cuphead’s backside with the tip of her heel to get him to behave. He wasn’t expecting this and leapt a good foot in the air, covering his rear.

“Whoa! Any further in and we would’ve had a serious problem.”

Cuphead slapped both palms over his mouth for breaking character and grinned nervously up at the livid actress, deciding to ad-lib, “Uh, guess I’m really becoming a wo_man_, huh Mother?”

The previous laughter rose a bit in volume, making Sally flash the cup a warning scowl as the scene changed to a small bedroom. A handful of extras scampered into view − a few women dressed as maids, one a nanny, and Sally’s husband playing her lover. The nanny scooped Cuphead up and tucked him into the makeshift bed that had been pushed out during the transition, swiftly joining the others to gather around Sally.

They each had their own lines where only Sally had to respond, not Cuphead, and thankfully the rhyme scheme was dying down. It actually began to look and sound like the plays he was used to watching with Mugman and Elder Kettle, but here he was – tricked into a skirt and already in bed way before nine o’clock.

_Big debut my foot! How come their son couldn’t be sick instead?_ Cuphead thought bitterly, crossing his arms. _I could still be wearing pants._

He listened half-heartedly to the traded lines for a minute more, though being in a fake yet comfy bed made his eyes droop. He yawned in his hand and searched for something to keep his attention (and more importantly, himself) alert, spotting a stagehand to his right leaning against a podium also looking tired as he waited for another cue.

A grin sprung on Cuphead’s face as he slowly slid out the bed and crawled behind the curtain. A view of the backstage hall displayed various levers, pulleys, clothing racks and props, and bits of furniture. Cuphead’s eyes widened in awe.

“Look at all this neat stuff!” He whispered, lightly tugging at a few ropes. “Why couldn’t I work back here instead? Wonder what they all do…”

His curiosities were unintentionally answered when he took another step and the end of a rope snagged his shoe. He instinctively tugged to get it off, staggering into a couple mechanics that startled him and made him get tangled in more rope. With a yelp that woke the stagehand, Cuphead tumbled backwards and pulled harder. Neither saw what had happened out on stage to earn gasps from the audience, and when they peeked out from their places, both saw two large cloud props had fallen and were centimeters away from the performers.

“M-my goodness, uh… My dear, I know your mind is clouded but this is downright silly!” One of the maids expertly improvised, swapping the audience’s former alarm from the dropped props to laughter once more and even some scattered applause.

Both the stagehand and Cuphead wiped their brows in relief that no one had gotten hurt.

“Little lady, ain’t ya supposed to be on stage with your mother?” The worker pointed out after helping Cuphead out of the ropes. “This ain’t a playground for children, especially little missies like yourself. Run along.”

By habit, Cuphead hiked up the hem of his skirt like they were his red shorts. “I am not a little missy, I’m a boy.”

“I’ll say. You ain’t wearing that getup right at all.”

“It’s not my fault those stockings wouldn’t fit—I mean, I’m only doing this to help Sally out!” Cuphead pointed a finger, face a heated shade of red. “I’m a boy, not some little missy, sissy schoolgirl.”

A hand yanked his handle from behind and a pitched squeal leapt out of his mouth.

“Sounded like some little missy, sissy schoolgirl to me with that scream,” the worker mumbled under his breath.

“And with that, you frighten the poor girl with your hidden worries and doubts,” the nanny recited, holding Cuphead close. “You should know, my dear lady, how unhealthy it is for your little sprout.”

Sally crouched down, taking the boy’s gloved hand in a strong vice so he wouldn’t sneak off again. “Hark! It’s best she not know, for what Mother would I be… Stressing and relenting in front of her verbally?”

All eyes were on Cuphead, and he broke out in a nervous sweat when he realized he had the next line. Since he hadn’t been paying attention to the others however, he had no idea where they were in the play.

His eyes flit up to Sally’s and he innocently whispered, “Who’s Hark?”

. . . . . . . .

Considering how many off script occurrences had happened in her play, Sally and the rest of the cast were able to work their way around the original story through some improvisation, the real lines, and jumping around Cuphead’s occasional scattered interjections. The less the boy goofed off, the actress thought, the better her show and therefore reputation would be. It concluded with the usual curtain drawn, humble applause, and every actor and actress standing hand-in-hand to bow − though Cuphead had fled backstage and ditched the costume and makeup as soon as the curtains were down for good, not wanting to see if Sally was cross with him or not for his…unique “debut”.

While others left early or stayed behind to talk with one another, there were a few who just had to wait in line to express what they thought of the show. Mugman and Elder Kettle had finally reunited with Cuphead.

“I gotta say big sis,” Mugman teased, earning a scowl from Cuphead, “it was kinda neat seeing you up there. We were worried when you didn’t come sit with us.”

“I was worried about my head popping off.” Cuphead held up one of his feet that still had the heels on. “How do girls walk in these things? Give me boots any day.”

Elder Kettle chuckled, patting his boy’s arm. “Aside from your little performance, I think it was very nice of you to help out Miss Sally in place of her daughter.”

“Yeah, hope she gets better soon so no other poor guy has to be in a skirt for her.”

“Hey, laughter’s the best medicine.” Mugman nudged Cuphead’s shoulder. “Maybe you should put your wig back on, go visit her, and act out a scene for her.”

“How ‘bout I act out _this−!_”

Cuphead lunged his hands out and sprung to his feet to chase Mugman, both unable to hear Elder Kettle’s scoldings to not run in the theater. The two eventually braked hard when they nearly ran into the legs of Sally and Otto, who were still in costume. Sally gave a pinched look down at the cup brothers and tapped her foot.

“There you are Cuphead. Let’s talk about your shining star moments on stage, hm?”

A nervous grin the red cup tried playing off wobbled on his lips, and he held his hands up to his chest. “Before you get to screaming, uh… My dear madame, did I ever tell you how much I love that hat?”

Sally’s eyebrow twitched only once as she leaned down, pressed her long nose into Cuphead’s, and…

“_Ack!_ Wh-why…why’re you hugging me so tight?”

“Oh my dear, I wanted to thank you for the wonderful outcome of the show!”

Cuphead blinked a mile a minute. “Come again?”

“Yes, I couldn’t believe it myself, but when so many toons came backstage saying how they loved my new comedy and were willing to wait for another showing, well… My goodness, I just about fainted on the spot! I simply couldn’t believe the audience would crave more of such a train wreck of a play, but they really loved it. One man told me he’s never laughed so hard in months.”

Much like the whole stardom talk earlier that had roped him into the ordeal, Cuphead felt himself grinning from ear to ear. Sally wasn’t mad at him, the play had wound up turning out okay, and the people loved it. He had saved the night without even trying!

“Well you did say the audience needed some rambunctious and ambitious energy tonight, so”—Cuphead exaggerated a curtsy with his shorts—“oh Mother, Fair Mother, tall and bright, you had nothin’ to worry about.” He took Mugman’s wrist and ran off with him. “So g’night!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too sure how to feel about this particular chapter, but I hope it's okay for my Cuphead readers! ❤︎


	15. A Winter Wonder…garden {Cuphead, Mugman, & Cagney}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the morning of Christmas Eve, Inkwell Isle gets the gift of a lifetime with a pleasant snow shower. However, one particular plant can’t find anything to smile about in the cold, so Cuphead and Mugman make it their mission to cheer him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! 🎄⛄️  
(Was also totally inspired by this cute comic for Cup and Mugs’ snowball fight: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLsj1UrV-MA)

Under the indigo-swathed night, the might of nature decided the approaching winter touch would introduce its frigid beauty for Inkwell Isle. A frantic flurry of swirling white soon became a solid winter wonderland in the hours the residents slept. They thought nothing of it when the sun streamed through their windows, though while the skies were clear the ground certainly wasn’t. A blinding sea of white painted the entire overworld, making the schoolhouse close its doors, teasing grownups to stay inside, and encouraging children to go out and play.

Cuphead pressed his face to the window and after only a minute he could no longer see, his own breath having fogged up the glass. Without calling out his intentions to the household, the eager dish raced outside. A bitter wind nipped at his exposed limbs, eager to take away body heat. Branches hung low from the weight of snow but remained strong, and a squirrel hop from place to place beneath one, leaving behind paw prints as it headed home.

Out of curiosity, Cuphead sunk his hand in the ground and laughed when the handprint remained. He poked at the mounds circling his feet, the texture softer than a feather but thicker than soup, and he felt his glassware prickling without his meaning to.

“Cuphead!” He jumped at his name and turned to see Elder Kettle in the doorway, wildly gesturing to him. “Get back in here boy! Do you have any idea how cold it is out there?”

“It’s not that cold,” Cuphead insisted as he heeded his guardian’s orders, but his teeth were chattering. “I can take the snow.”

“Not without bundling up first, you won’t.”

While he went to fetch warmer clothes, Mugman hopped down the stairs, fully dressed in blue winter garb topped with a great big smile.

“Elder Kettle, can we all go to the city? They’re putting the tree up in the circle and by tonight, it’ll shine so bright you can see it from the heavens!”

“Is that so?” The tan kettle chuckled, wrapping a red scarf around a quietly protesting Cuphead. “We can certainly make a day trip later if that’s what you boys want.”

“You really mean it?”

“Sure. You two just stay warm and behave yourselves until then. Promise?”

“We promise!” The cup and mug chirped, holding out their pinkies to seal the agreement with their parent figure.

Once Cuphead was fit to return outside, he and Mugman bolted like a bat out of hell, the crunch of snow beneath their boots echoing in the air as they crossed the wooden bridge connecting them to the mainland. Layers of winter’s gift looked so soft and solid on the ground that it was odd to think the grass was underneath, surviving its best until spring freed it. The line of trees on the first isles were beautifully decorated in tiers of red and green lights, winking at anyone who passed them, while glittering ornaments and wreaths decorated anything they could cling to.

It had to be the coldest season Inkwell had ever received, and with it also being Christmas Eve, it didn’t get any better than that.

“You think we can build a snowman here?” Mugman asked, already rolling a base for the body. “We can put it in the shade so it won’t melt, but we’d also have to… Cuphead?”

The blue mug stood alone in the clearing with only the company of the biting wind.

“Cuphead?” No response. Mugman checked behind trees, bushes, and inside logs. Nothing red. “Cuphead! Where’d you go? You know we’re not allowed to−!”

A snowball exploded in his face. From where it had been thrown Mugman wasn’t sure, but he knew the fight was on. Another hit the side of the stump he ducked behind and a third sailed through the air to clip his handle. Cuphead was good.

A grin sprung on Mugman’s face as he took his first snowball and sent it flying, piling up a tiny mountain of snowy ammunition and dashing in and out of the opening to try and draw his brother out. One more icy ball made contact with the front of his coat, startling him enough to blindly let his own snowball go.

“Try again!” Cuphead taunted from behind a tree. “Man, what a lousy shot you are Mugs!”

“What did you just call me? Oh, by golly I’ll show you!”

Mugman swung his arm back and threw hard. _Splat!_ Impact square in Cuphead’s face. He let out a whoop and laughed to himself, hands on his hips.

“How’s that for a lousy shot!” He called out. His amusement faded when silence was the reaction. “I didn’t hit you that hard, did I?”

Still nothing, and now all games were pushed aside as a terrified Mugman ran to his brother’s aid. “Cups, are you alright? C-c’mon pal, get up. What’s the matter with−!”

A giant snowball smacked his face yet again, covering it entirely save for his large blue nose. Clearly fine and taken over by laughter, Cuphead pointed at how ridiculous Mugman looked.

“Got’cha! You should’ve seen the look on your face!”

Mugman’s porcelain was a boiling shade of crimson that melted the snow off with ease. “I thought you were knocked out! Th-that was just rotten!”

“Not as rotten as your aim!”

Mugman said no more as he turned his back and sat on his knees, covering his eyes with his shaky hands. Now of course Cuphead had stopped laughing and felt kind of bad seeing how much he scared his little bro. He put a hand on his shoulder and crouched down.

“Mugs? Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just messing around, that’s all. Are you gonna be…”

_Splat!_ A taste of the cup’s own medicine returned. He gasped almost melodramatically while Mugman burst into laughter, blew a raspberry, and took off running. Cuphead wiped his face and gave chase.

“_Ha!_ Oh, that was dirty! Come back here, I’m gonna clobber ya!”

“Gotta catch me first!”

Deeper into the first isles saw deeper slopes of snow and less sunlight since the trees, while bare from shedding their leaves, were clumped with the icy mess and blocking the sun in certain parts. Cuphead eventually caught up with Mugman and tackled him into a snowbank, the brothers disappearing for a moment before they popped up like daisies, laughing at what had happened.

But when Cuphead abruptly put a hand over Mugman’s mouth, it was clear they had stumbled into a bit of trouble. They were a foot away from Cagney’s territory and the towering carnation wasn’t too far, slumped over in one of the limited spots of shade presumably asleep.

“_Shh_, you know how he gets when people just waltz in his garden,” Cuphead whispered, he and Mugman carefully untangling themselves from the snow.

“He looks cold,” Mugman whispered back. “You think he’d want a scarf? Maybe a hat?”

“If we put a hat on Cagney, he’ll make sure we won’t pull something like that again.”

“How come? His flowers are covered and he’s by himself, so I’m sure he’s pretty bent about that. Plus it’s Christmas Eve. He shouldn’t be like this.”

“I know, but what can we do about it?”

It didn’t take long for a clever idea to jump to mind and be shared with Cuphead as Mugman took his hand and backtracked to the house. With their footsteps and voices fading, Cagney opened one eye and groaned under his breath. He hadn’t been sleeping − _Who can in this weather?_ He thought − and had heard every word from the duo, praying they wouldn’t return and bother him. Winter was never a friend to the yellow carnation and forced everything it got its freezing claws on into hibernation, but his case was slightly different.

Being a flower did mean Cagney required the usual things like sunlight, clean air, and water, yet unlike his non-anthropomorphic sisters and brothers, his plant body could handle the cold. To a degree. Yes he sometimes found himself concentrating into a vegetative-like stupor in order to sleep better through the cold weather, but he could never truly lie dormant like everything else around Inkwell. It felt strange to him and he never had too many troubles not hibernating.

_I’m already getting warmer_, he thought in satisfaction at the feel of his petals relaxing. _This is my domain, I know what I’m doing. I didn’t need your help._

Something was off by how Cagney was getting warm, because he certainly didn’t recall being able to produce wool. His eyes snapped open and his head shot up in alarm, seeing Cuphead and Mugman had returned and were placing various quilts and scarves around his stem and leaves.

“What are you two doing?”

“We saw you were cold, so we ran home to get some old stuff we thought would help,” Mugman answered with a smile.

“I’m not cold.”

“That’s not what your roots say,” Cuphead noted with a swift kick to one of the vine-like roots that hadn’t buried properly. “It’s turning blue under there.”

The root instinctively wrapped around Cuphead’s ankle as Cagney leaned in close, pressing a leafy finger into his chest. “If you wanna see how fast a cup can fly, kick my roots again.”

“Gee, I thought snow was supposed to cool things down, but your temper’s still standing.”

Cagney scowled deeper, not wanting to waste energy on the smart mouth, and released him with his own hard nudge to the backside.

“Just take your things and leave. It’s too cold to be bothered right now.”

Cuphead smirked. “Thought you weren’t cold, remember? You said so earlier.”

Mugman bumped an elbow to his stomach. “Cuphead, be nice.” He reached into a bag they brought along and unscrewed the top of a thermos. “Here Cagney, this should help.”

Cagney warily looked down at the steaming liquid. “What is it?”

“Hot chocolate,” the two stated matter of factly.

“Trash it. I don’t drink that stuff.”

“You act like it’s whiskey! It’s just yummy cocoa with marshmallows,” Cuphead explained. “What? You picky ‘cause we didn’t cut them into cute little butterflies?”

“It’s good,” Mugman seconded. “Elder Kettle always made this for us when we were little on cold nights.”

“Well it’s not nighttime and flowers don’t drink cocoa. Besides, not an extreme fan on the sweets, so trash it.”

The boys shared a look but didn’t discard the drink, instead putting the lid back on the thermos so it would stay warm and taking a seat on either side of the carnation like he had casually invited them to sit. Cagney’s eyes narrowed at their actions, unsure of what they were up to.

“We’re gonna see the big tree over in the city tonight with Elder Kettle,” Mugman told him, building a miniature snowman in front of him. “He promised us.”

Cuphead nodded, grinning at the sky. “It’s gonna be so neat seeing all those snazzy lights and decorations! You think if we’re really good he’ll let us stay for a while, Mugs?”

“I hope so. I wanna see Brineybeard again and see if he decorated his ship. Hey Cagney, are you going to see them light up the tree?”

The flower scoffed and rested his body back on the ground. “Like the snow, I hate that polluted pigsty.”

“It’s pretty nice over there, especially in the summer,” Cuphead quickly defended the third isles. “They have some grass and trees over there.”

“Yeah, in those concrete constrictors. They’re probably fake and I wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest.”

“Nope, they’re real. They change colors all the time for each season,” Mugman confidently confirmed.

Cuphead laid down, nodding in agreement and lazily making a snow angel. “You think it’ll snow like this again?”

Cagney scoffed a second time. “I dare it to.”

“I wouldn’t mind if it did. Sure it gets cold, but that means cozier nights inside, fireplaces, hot cocoa…” Mugman finished two more companions for his tiny snowman. “I think that’s just as beautiful as the snow.”

As time passed, the once pleasant coldness now numbed the cups’ faces. Like frost on a windowpane, it crept under their coats and to their sensitive glass skin, but the pristine whiteness around them and wanting Cagney’s grouchiness to lift gave them enough warmth to stay.

Every new minute that ticked by was spent in small talk, watching the trees and birds, or Cagney observing Cuphead and Mugman when they got up to stretch and play. The frosty morning the two had found so bewitching was making them antsy the longer they remained in one spot, and Cagney could tell. He didn’t want them around not just because he preferred solitude in the winter, but he knew it was the day before Christmas and all that energy bottled up needed to be sprinkled elsewhere.

“Cagney?” The flower blinked, unaware he’d been spacing out when Cuphead and Mugman stood in front of him, holding something behind their backs. “I forgot me and Cups had something to give you.”

“Just to remind you that even if you think the snow’s bad, you can still make things nice around you,” Cuphead added.

Each one held out a respective red and blue ornament in their gloves, and surprised wasn’t the exact word Cagney was feeling. The colors shone in the light with deep silver indentations on each side and radiated a mysterious magnetic pull.

“They look like little plums,” he muttered, gingerly taking them. Something not entirely a smile but opposite of the grouchy demeanor he’d been giving off eased his face. “You both drive me up the wall so much it’s not even funny. But,” he added softly, hanging his new decorations above the tree he was under and giving the two a pat on the head, “good to know I’ve got my own miracles around.”


	16. Reflection {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new year, the same cup brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I badly wanted to get this out on the first of the New Year to express my gratitude for those who have read, commented, and given this story a chance, but regardless of the date, I’m still wishing everyone everywhere a happy, healthy, and blessed 2020! 🥂 🕛 🎉

It felt like just yesterday Inkwell Isle was painted in a pattern of white, sporting proud snowmen and beautiful ensembles of the holidays. The sun was just as bright and brought more warmth than before as the days shuffled by, melting the slippery patches and giving a chance for the green to reclaim its right to be seen. Though the promises of spring was a great deal away, and the wind still blew cold and the air still smelled of winter, the isles thrived no matter the season.

But now the sun had gone to rest and the sky had no idea what it wanted to do unsupervised. Vivid light across a deep crimson, dark as it could be with a single mauve streak scarring the horizon, drunkenly undressed itself for the evening. A small figure sat among the clouds and watched, allured by the transition and the wonders it brought. She waited a minute more, savoring the rare sight to behold, before she was transfixed by something else.

Along the usually dark rural area, hundreds if not _thousands_ of candles, paper lanterns, and winter buds lit up a settling winter’s day in a riot of color to rival even Cagney’s garden paradise. Grownups were here and there in their coats and boots, weaving through the mass of neighbors to chat with old friends or keep an eye on the younger ones. Children with their mittens and scarfs ran about, adding to the gaiety by carrying a lamp of their own making to hang along the trees, misty puffs of breath made visible by the glow of the flickering candles.

Of course it wouldn’t be an Inkwell Isle celebration without two certain cups, and they were included in the great clump of eager kids competing for the highest branch.

The isles had their fair share of traditions from new to old, and tonight was to be the most cherished of them all. It was the Festival of Lights. A place of unrestrained joy where music filled the air; festive beats lifted spirits and made people want to move, jump and sing; and sequins of gold, magenta, ivory and emerald green sparkled in the brilliant moonlight from the paint and costumes of all folklore.

At the stroke of midnight on the old toon clock would come the first wave of songs, songs of thanks to echo into the homes of every resident. Thanks to another healthy and happy New Year, thanks to the friends and memories made along the way, and the sacrifices unraveled before their eyes. Indeed, it was a time to celebrate being alive and appreciative, celebrate the wonders of creation and love, and be one with the community.

However, there came a time when one needed a slight break from the addictive cheer and noise.

“Cuphead, are you sure about this?”

Away from the humble festivities and on the wild celebrating streets of Inkwell Isle Three, the sidewalk ahead had a rainbow sheen − all that was left of a kid’s game of hopscotch. The outline was still there, a ghostly shadow of what it was before heavy rain cleansed the city last night. Oh, the memories.

“Relax Mugs, we won’t be going too far. We’ll be back in time for the celebration and before anyone notices we’re gone.”

Every summer the boys would beg Elder Kettle to take them to the third isles where they’d lay out a hopscotch grid on the aging planks of the pier while the old kettle rested beside the shore. Mugman would draw the squares in fancy sidewalk chalk he and Cuphead had saved up for, a different color for every number.

“I hope you’re right. This better be worth it.”

There was something innocent and magical about hearing their hops echo down to the waters below to the curious fish, and as their boots now thumped along the rain-slicked sidewalks, barely any curiosity from store owners in the windows to wandering city dwellers was evoked. They were no strangers to the overworld, especially around the interurban areas for obvious reasons.

“Oh, it is.”

Adventure lingered in the frosty breezes and reflected in the passionate grin on Cuphead’s face. It echoed through the urban hub and up into the incomprehensibly colored sky. He always knew he and Mugman hit the jackpot of the next great adventure whenever he got that tingly feeling, a frisson of excitement that spread from his brimming head right down to the tips of his feet. The buzz of the new and the thrill of the unknown pushed his limits and could not be tamed easily, and that same tingling swarmed his stomach in a fury as he raced ahead, careful not to disturb the paper lantern in his hands.

Mugman picked up the pace so he wouldn’t get left behind, his own glowing decoration in hand. “Hey, where are we going?” No answer, but he quickly didn’t want to hear one when those familiar train tracks eventually rose in the distance. “Cuphead, what are we doing here? Where are we going?”

“We’re gonna take a look at the casino.”

“_What!_” Mugman snatched the cup by the handle so wildly that both his straw and a spot of liquid nearly jumped out. “You’ve flipped your lid! How could you think going back there would be a good idea? It’s one thing to have fun and go on adventures, but we both swore we’d never step foot in that…in that…!”

Cuphead could tell his little bro wanted badly to swear, but even in his angriest episodes his heart would never allow it. He fit a hand over the rambling mouth, shushing him.

“Cool it! It’s not like we can actually go back there and gamble. I just wanted to get one last look at it before they tear it down, that’s all.”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Please? Just _one_ itty-bitty look and then we’ll go. Cross my heart.”

The fire was already running rampant in Cuphead’s eyes, Mugman could see this. It would take more than just begging, tears, and shouting to dissuade him from such an idea. Plus, as much as the latter hated to admit it, he desired to know what had become of the notorious gambling den after times of neglect.

“Just one look.”

Whether it be natural from the sun or manmade ones made to decorate and guide, light was always being swallowed by the eternal night the cave-like entrance introduced, slowly being eaten and digested all the slower. For a moment too long the darkness’s inky spittle acted as a dark tiger, savoring its tasteful prey of ignorance.

Worries and thoughts silently burned into smoke as one wandered through the endless charcoal-shaded night, only to be exposed to a blindingly exciting place of perfumed atmosphere made all the more inviting by swinging jazz and a well groomed, subservient staff. Thrill seekers would exchange their coins and bills for a quite literal life changing deal, and by chance they came ‘pon devil’s game, gosh would they pay the price.

“There it is.” Cuphead pointed up at the towering, egotistical casino that no longer had its luminosity or patrons to brag about. “Boy, we really did a number on this place, huh?”

Mugman nodded as if lost in a nostalgic thought. “We had to, for our friends and for ourselves. It’s so strange, though… It feels like we haven’t been here in years.”

“Yeah, I feel it to. You think they’d ever rebuild it?”

“Gosh, I hope not. This place is a nightmare. But,” Mugman added in slowly, the pair returning to the black hole of an entrance, “really, if it hadn’t been for you Cups, I don’t think the isles would’ve seen color or happiness again.”

“If it hadn’t been for _us_,” Cuphead corrected, nudging his brother’s elbow. “Like you said, no matter what we’re always gonna be by each other’s side. We’re pals, and we finish stuff together.”

Mugman smiled, recalling having said those words when it seemed the odds weren’t in their favor, and brought Cuphead close with one arm, rapping his knuckles against his cup-shaped head for the unexpected sentiment. Above their laughter, Mugman then suggested they leave their lanterns by the entranceway.

“To put our past behind us and start a new year off right,” he explained, and Cuphead couldn’t agree more.

So the red and blue spots of light remained there, banishing the darkness that had befallen on the boys’ hearts out of fear of being in the claws of evil. But that was behind them now, and in its place beamed a great light of peace, joy, and faith. They had defeated the Devil. They had set everyone free. And now, they were going to return home, hand-in-hand, brother and brother.

Together, to start the new year off right.


	17. Dizzy Dishes {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elder Kettle has something new on his writing desk that quite literally takes the boys to a whole other world.

It seemed as if Inkwell Isle was ready for rain, but it was so different from the months of previous rainstorms it had had. Before the drops had lost the ambient temperature of an early season, freezing and paling skin on contact from the winter-chilled clouds. At this point along the graphite sky, the rain was cool on a rarity of a warm day, a welcome shower to add to the senses. The air was electrified as it anticipated the light storm, bouncing off the quaint streets and homes just the same.

From his cozy place by the window, Cuphead watched the beads form a broken artwork on the glass. Not a moment later did he hear a strange shuffling on the stairs and snickered at the sight of his brother, weary with the burden of long-closed eyes, feeling around the den while part of his blanket dragged behind him like he was two years old.

“You could easily pull off being a zombie,” Cuphead teased.

Mugman’s groan was lost against the drone of rain. “’M dead on the inside but subconsciously awake.”

“Whatever you say buddy. I would offer you breakfast but it’s not morning anymore.”

“Gosh, doesn’t that beat all? How long was I asleep?”

“Don’t remember, but Elder Kettle said to make sure you eat something when you get up.”

Cuphead saw Mugman’s reflection in the window disappear momentarily before he returned, an apple in one hand and wiping his eyes with the other.

“Where’d he go?”

“To the market. He left a note saying he’d be back soon and not to shoot up any of the walls while we’re at it.”

The pair shared a laugh at the fleeting two-month-old memory sitting like an old child’s play recollection despite the fact that they indeed were still children. They wouldn’t be for long of course, but in their hearts they were fully convinced their antics would be high even when they got older.

For another moment things were quiet − Mugman enjoying his fruit with a soft crunch every few seconds, the rain filling Cuphead’s heart with pleasure the longer he sat still and didn’t wreak havoc for once − until the clap of thunder coincided with a rather particular find in the house. The sound barely shook the tiny cottage but was just enough for something to slip and catch Mugman’s attention.

“Was this the note?” He put the apple aside to inspect Elder Kettle’s handwriting when something else caught his eye. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

Cuphead was already bounding over at the curious tone, wanting to see for himself. On the kettle’s old writing desk lay a single quill, a bottle of ink, and a canvas-like material with a washed out undertone. It showed a bicycle basket full of wilted flowers leaning against a lightning-scarred tree, and while beautifully drawn it was still an odd possession for him.

“When’d he find time to draw this?” Cuphead wondered aloud, carefully holding the picture up to the light.

Mugman shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe he does this in his spare time whenever we’re out?”

“Well gee, I’d say he’s had a lot of time on his hands. This is such a neat drawing! So lifelike, looks like those flowers are blowin’ in the wind.”

Mugman glanced over the cup’s shoulder and did a double take at the sketch. It actually did look like the flowers in the basket were moving, and the same went for the leaves in the tree and the back wheel of the bike. He rubbed his eyes hard and leaned closer, poking a tentative finger in the center.

The whole world suddenly felt like it was on low resolution, like a bad quality cartoon, and a bitter and humid cold shot through him so fast he hadn’t the time to be scared or confused. When he blinked, he was first aware of the coolness of the air and its dewey fragrance. The ground was lumpy as if he were on a bed of rocks, and he half wondered if he was dreaming as he sat up to take in the shafts of light bursting through the gaps in the…

_Black and white tree?_

Mugman sprang to his feet, fully alert than he’d ever been, and rubbed his eyes harder. Looking ahead, he could tell he was in a city of wide avenues abuzz with unique toons and some humanlike folk. The urban hub offered modest roads for those who could afford automobiles while the sidewalks were lined with literal bouncing apartments, actual steaming bakeries, and flowing luxury boutiques. But as far as the little mug could tell, he was alone with the birds whose carefree song made him feel lonelier.

Mugman tried calling out to Cuphead but startled when no sound came. It prompted him to try again and again, each attempt turning his mug red from the amount of air he used each time. His tongue lapped out like a dog needing to cool itself down and he leaned against the tree, unsure of what to do. Just a second later, something whizzed down from out of the blue and crashed into the bike, sending Mugman’s straw jolting out in an exclamation mark of shock.

Cobwebs were in Cuphead’s eyes while his head rolled like a tilt-a-whirl, though no moment was given for him to regain his senses as Mugman rushed forward and lifted him in a relieved bear hug. Cuphead flailed his boots, the squeeze momentarily getting the cobwebs to return before he leapt out the grip and gestured wildly about, wondering where they were and how they got there and why everything was grayscale save for their shorts, straws and noses and _by_ _golly, they couldn’t speak_.

Mugman could only shrug, just as confused as his brother by their lack of vocals but plentiful background noise surrounding them. He glanced at the bicycle and took a hesitant seat, figuring he and Cuphead could borrow it to ride out to town and “ask” for directions, yet the plan took an immediate backseat when Cuphead did a double take towards the streets and nudged Mugman in the side.

A curvy cutie of a Jazz Age flapper walking with her hips swaying appeared, her features combining in appearance of childish and sophisticated. She had a large round baby face framed in a somewhat careful coiffure, two big eyes and a nose like a button. She may have had a very small body, but her soft curves stole the hearts and eyes of each man she passed – literally.

One construction worker’s eyeballs popped out and tried to follow, only to crash into a mailbox. Two other men, one painting a fence and the other fixing his briefcase, both stopped to stare. Hearts swam around their heads as the painter unknowingly swept his paintbrush up the businessman’s pressed suit while the latter’s actual money-loving heart peeked out from the case to give a wolf whistle. The woman was undeterred by the attention – the cup brothers even dared to think she didn’t hate it – and as she passed by, she took a few seconds out of her walk to pat each one’s head.

A single look at one another and one more glance at the lady’s retreating back was all it took for the dishes to noticeably re-shade in a flustered blush. The pigment didn’t last long on Cuphead and he effortlessly donned a pair of sunglasses and a red jacket like a rebel without a cause. He grabbed the handlebars of the bike and raced after the mysterious brunette with a swagger in his step, throwing Mugman both off the seat and off guard by the abrupt posture change. He frantically searched for something right up his alley and honed in on the withering flowers that had fallen out the basket in Cuphead’s haste.

He looked over to see the painter whose distractions cost the businessman his suit getting a warbled earful from the worker and had temporarily abandoned the fence. The blue mug snuck up behind the duo, grabbed the single paintbrush, and lathered the neglected plants until they stood tall, healthy and proud as if the paint had been the elixir of life.

Over with the enigmatic beaut, a flapper girl with more heart than brains, Miss Betty Boop carried on with her morning walk. She knew that wherever she went and whatever she did, men and boys would break their necks for just one glance or a chance to put a move on her. Of course she was aware she was a cute little dame and flaunted it in town, but there was more to this than meets the eye with this caricature.

Betty rounded a corner where a sailor happened to be chewing tobacco, but he instantly spat it out once she passed and rolled up his sleeves to show off impressive tattoos on even more impressive muscles. With a sly grin, he sped towards her and tipped his hat, jut a thumb over his shoulder at a nearby soda shop, and held out his large bicep for Betty to take. If it meant a free ice cream float, the girl was all for it and hugged onto the arm, yet the pair had barely taken two steps before something whizzed past, clipping the hem of the sailor’s pants and exposing his heart-themed boxers.

Mortified out of his mind, the sailor let out a shriek and dove for cover to cover himself back up all the while Betty bent over in a giggling fit. A gloved hand tapped her shoulder, and when she turned she was surprised to find the red dish from earlier − looking rather spiffy if she did say so herself − holding out his own arm that, while not broad and buff like the sailor’s, held a good sense of security that made Betty’s heart warm. When she took it, the little cup shot out tiny bullets of energy from his fingertips at a blank billboard, decorating it with a giant heart that pleased Betty enough to be thrilled by the sudden magic and not frightened.

Cuphead escorted her to the borrowed bike and helped her in the basket, then took to the pedals and cruised the streets like two teenagers going steady. At some point he passed Mugman who had managed to catch up by taking a shortcut, but he looked pretty winded from running. He purposely sped up, sending his bro in a spinning daze and waving over his shoulder as if to say “all’s fair in love and war!” With the wind at their backs and the sun shining bright, all looked well for Cuphead. He had scored big!

Or so he thought.

Watching his brother and Betty ride off boiled the insides of Mugman’s head. He crossed his arms, the irritated pout quickly snapping into surprise and then a wily grin within seconds. He aimed a finger at a fire hydrant in the distance, waited for the opportune moment, and then _blam!_ The blast converted itself into a bulldog who, upon reaching the designated potty for dogs, found no need to go and instead kicked the red object straight out the ground the same time Cuphead and Betty cycled by. A fountain of water blasted both into the air and sent them flying, and Mugman wasted no time running to catch the falling Betty in his arms.

The girl blinked a mile a minute, looking from the ruined hydrant to the fallen bike to the other little dish she’d seen earlier. Too many emotions were present, so she stuck with grateful. When Mugman bashfully presented her the flowers, it swapped for elated and she hugged him tight. His straw hopped above his rim, the bottom part of it curled in a big heart, and he made his way to the other side of the street to try and find a beach they could relax at.

Meanwhile back at the lightning-scarred tree, a tubby black-and-white cartoon dog sauntered his way up the tiny hill, whistling a merry tune in closed-eye gaiety and holding a new bunch of flowers since the old ones on his bike had seen better days. With eyes still closed and a pep in his step at how happy his cutie would be with his gift, he felt around for the handlebars and came up short. The note flattened and his eyes shot open, the sight of his missing bike making him jump. He looked in circles around the area, scratching his head and feeling dread rise in his chest. The town was so nice and safe, how could a klepto slip past him?

In the midst of the pup’s panicked search, he spotted a silhouette speeding in the direction of the old pier. Climbing the tree and spawning a pair of binoculars, he spotted a lad with a mug-shaped head and bright blue nose…

Holding his girl!

A train whistle timed with the animal’s anger as he dashed out the tree. Nobody stole Bimbo’s girl and got away with it. The dog split the field and tried to keep the mug in his sights, but like milk left out his luck curdled as city dwellers popped out of nowhere, their tall legs or swinging purses blocking Bimbo’s line of sight. In ten seconds flat he lost the pair, but he didn’t give up so easily and ran over to a couple having tea at an outside café. Once he got their attention, he held up a rushed sketch of an ordinary mug with a large blue dot colored in the center and a question mark beside it.

The couple shook their heads and returned to their hot drinks, though the wife found herself getting an unnecessary size up when a larger cup with a red-and-white straw toppled into her hand from a sky-bound fall. She didn’t notice right away until she took a sip, and when realizing it wasn’t tea and had a face, she screamed, dropped the cup, and rushed off while her husband chased after her trying to calm her down.

Bimbo curiously lifted the abnormally big dish, missing the dizzy face at the back and took a tentative sip. Its eyes widened and the body could sense the distress as it plopped on the couple’s previous table when gravity brought it back down. It took a moment to regain balance and marched over to the dog to snatch the cup and put it in between its shoulders. Bimbo had seen plenty of zany characters around the toon world, but now was not the time for awe; he had to find Betty. He tapped the stranger’s shoulder and held up the sketch, knowing he’d asked the right person when the cup character seemed very invested on who he was looking for, pointed north, and took off in a cloud of dust before Bimbo could.

Jumping over to Mugman and Betty, they had finally settled down by a small dock overlooking the humble star of the town: its beach. Granted, with the colorless color scheme it was hard to appreciate the view, but Mugman was swinging his boots beside a pretty girl who loved the flowers and was _thisclose_ to touching his hand.

Maybe she’d give him a kiss! Golly, wouldn’t that be something?

A wave of confidence swept him like the white caps on the dark water, and he fit his gloved hand over Betty’s undressed one, giving a sheepish closed-eyed grin when she turned to him. She smiled at how cute he was being and decided one little kiss couldn’t hurt. After all, he had saved her from the scary fall, given her flowers, and carried her all the way to one of her favorite spots in town.

Suddenly a whistle from behind caught both off guard, and Mugman jumped to his feet at a ticked off looking dog and his brother. Both rushed onto the dock, gave a vague gesture for him to back off and, once he did, took either of Betty’s arms. They shook their heads fast and stared at one another in confusion, each boy thinking he had finally caught up with his girl. Bimbo shook his head again and pulled Betty towards him, but Cuphead narrowed his eyes and poked his chest with his thumb, also pulling Betty towards him. A brief but light tug-of-war commenced as to not hurt the flapper, but when neither gave up, they got nose to nose and glared viciously at the “woman stealer.”

Bimbo didn’t hesitate to bop where he presumed Cuphead’s chin was, causing his head to do a 360 at least ten times in rapid succession. He pointed and laughed at how ridiculous the cup looked, he was still laughing when a gloved hand slowly tapped his shoulder and handed him a leash when he turned around, but oh, who was laughing now when Mugman pointed at what the leash was connected to.

A small private boat belonging to a sailor.

He seemed to be grumbling to himself and fixing his pants, whatever anger being harbored extending to his foot as he pressed the gas to move the boat somewhere else from the seaside. Bimbo’s expression went deadpan, and it was too late to let go. The dog got catapulted towards the horizon, going up, up, up… Then down to splash with a painful belly flop.

Cuphead, Mugman, and Betty all pulled out scores of 8.5, 9, and another 9 respectively before the third latter had to go and get her beau before he got furious enough for a scuffle. She hugged the boys in thanks for one special adventure, left a pretty lipstick marking centimeters away from their mouths, and with her swaying hips and curvy backside, headed down the steps for a spare rowboat lying around and rowed where the sun touched the waters, giving one final wave with her tiny hands. The siblings shared the same look they’d had when Betty first appeared, but instead of changing color their little hearts skipped out their chests once registering the kiss and floated up, their blue lovestruck apparitions spinning as fast as their straw halos.

Cuphead gave a start, everything around him mute for a minute before the sounds of the rain letting up, the cottage settling, and his own labored breathing echoed around him.

“Mugs?” He slowly tested out, blinking at being able to talk again. “Mugman, what… What in the world was that?”

Mugman took his time standing. “You got me. It felt like being in an old cartoon or comic. Where’d we even go, and who was that girl?”

“No clue, but _gosh_ was she ever cute. Too bad our eyes were all wonky. I bet she’d be even prettier in color.”

“Yeah, and we sure got competitive back there, huh? Who knew that could happen with us?”

Cuphead chuckled, throwing an arm around Mugman’s shoulders and lightly rapping his head with his knuckles. “You know I meant nothin’ by it, right? I wasn’t trying to run you over with that bike or tussle with ya at the dock with that dog.”

“_Heh_, yeah I know. I wasn’t trying to blow you sky high, either. Glad I thought fast with that leash, though. Whoever that dog was didn’t have to boff you.”

“Eh, we’ve had better and worse fights than that. Hey, I think the rain’s stopping. Wanna catch some frogs?”

“I’m in!”

The brothers raced upstairs to get properly dressed for the damp outside, missing something in the strangely enchanted picture. Betty and Bimbo poked their heads from around the corner, watching the kids disappear upstairs, and smiled at one another. Bimbo wheeled the bicycle back in place and Betty gently placed her flowers in its basket. Then, hand in hand, the love interests skipped off and the drawing stabilized once more into a beautifully drawn bicycle basket full of wilted flowers leaning against a lightning-scarred tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betty Boop’s first appearance was in the cartoon Dizzy Dishes on August 9, 1930. While my plot doesn’t match with the original cartoon short, the name fit so well with the theme of Cuphead and I just had to whip something up. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoyed too! Boop-Oop-a-Doop~ ❤︎


	18. A Great Slam and Then Some {Cuphead}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Cuphead can swing like no tomorrow, then why shouldn’t he be in a red hot match? Ribby and Croaks have circled back around the isles, and Ribby’s offer he set once upon a time ago over dinner is now official. Is the itty bitty cup ready for a clashing bout, or has he bitten off more than he can chew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Cuphead, even though it’s ultimately a Mii fighting skin, has been added to Super Smash Bros. Hot dog! A little disappointed Mugman didn’t make it, but hey − one’s better than none. I wanted to get a little something out before the hype of the news faded too, too far out my reach. I’m not the best at writing fight scenes and personally think it could have gone on a little longer or perhaps a different way, but my brain got a little fried revising and editing. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy! ❤️ 💙

The letter was on ten cent paper and held so many crease lines, all of them fluffy on the outside from repeated folding and unfolding, but the words were without price.

_“People are telling me you’re gonna say yes, and I hope you do. It’d be a huge waste if you didn’t come and show these hotshots a thing or two how it’s really done. Boat’s docked, competition’s aplenty… Three o’clock this Saturday. _ _Hope you can still dish it out with the best of ’em with your eyes closed.”_

Seeing the personality behind the strong lines and heavy punctuation marks, Cuphead could tell Ribby meant every word of it. The frog wasn’t pulling his leg, and he was calling him out in all good natured fun. Cuphead couldn’t believe it − barely even twelve and already he had a gig! Was this real life? Who would he see there? What would Elder Kettle say?

“Boy, I think a brick must have fallen and conked you on the noggin! Are you okay? You think a bop on the head just rolls off your shoulders?”

He could pick his poison all day, but it would be the same. Elder Kettle wouldn’t want Cuphead putting his foot in his mouth around folks twenty times his size with tempers as short as his, and the dish had an inkling that his guardian wasn’t above sending someone on the boat and shutting everything down if there was so much as an inch of red. So that’s why he kept the event a secret though didn’t bother disguising the hype. Elder Kettle had assumed the bouncing around, fast talk, and usual daring and mischievous gleam swirling in his boy’s eyes was just Cuphead being Cuphead.

He wasn’t wrong.

Under the early afternoon sun, the steamboat flaunted a dazzling paint job, undeterred by the picked up wind gusting with the tempo of a fiddle. Like always whenever he passed a harbor with a boat or two docked, Cuphead would scamper over with an instant grin to feel the texture of the wood and watch the shadows grow and fade.

Mugman kicked a pebble and shoved his gloves in his blue windbreaker. “I don’t know about this.”

“Do you have to be such a wet blanket? Lighten up a bit! Man, what I wouldn’t give to see all that scuffling in person a couple weeks ago. Better yet, what I wouldn’t give to wallop a few of them hotshots myself.”

“You sound like Ribby.”

“That’s ‘cause he has the most wins under his belt, so he can talk. Think he and Croaks would ever want a rematch with us?” Cuphead added.

A cold sweat nicked Mugman’s back and he waved his hands in front of him fast. “Gosh, I hope not. I never wanna go toe to toe with them, no matter how much they promise to go easy on us. Never _ever_.”

“Fine, fine, I get it. At least”—Cuphead paused to unroll Ribby’s letter to the stocky fly bouncer, giving him a two-finger salute when he allowed the brothers access without hassle—“you at least gotta cheer me on when I’m goin’ toe to toe with some competition. Promise?”

All the reasons not to let his brother walk into chaos flooded in as if Mugman’s conscience had sent him a blatant invitation. Elder Kettle would have their heads if he knew they weren’t out in the fields but a mere step away from the front row of a fight. A soft panic bubbled in his chest that he knew would fade when Cuphead backed out. Not if, but when. Cuphead wouldn’t chicken out if he was still fit to give his all, so Mugman breathed real slow and held out a pinky.

Cuphead had taken a chance telling him what he planned to do, so Mugman had to give him a chance that he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

“Promise.”

The rounds assigned for the brawls weren’t for anything solid, like a paid battle royal or a championship, but it was far from having the quality of a low-scale dog fight in the slums of the city. The brutes aboard may have clashed, but they brought a type of class for that afternoon and were just getting a bang out of the attention, learning from others, and showing off. Species from hard-headed bulls and buffalo to skinny but crafty foxes and hyenas packed the water craft, and the air swarmed with cigar smoke, pretzels and booze, and indistinguishable chatter.

Cuphead breathed it all in like a spot of fresh air, nearly choking at the putrid odor of secondhand smoke but caught it fast. Mugman stood behind him, half out of uneasiness and the other half to pull him back if necessary.

“Gee, this place is crowded. I can’t even see the floor,” he muttered.

“I know, it’s so cool! C’mon, let’s find Ribby and Croaks so we can get you the best seat in the house.”

“No need lookin’ far boys!” Ribby waved the pair over from one of the tables, high-fiving them with vigor. “We’ve been scopin’ the place out since dawn.”

“You’re makin’ it sound like we’re two P.I.s,” Croaks rebut, holding out a mitt as Cuphead and Mugman smacked their palms into it, too. “Welcome back boys. Not gonna be catchin’ any licks in front of everybody, huh Mugs?”

“Not today,” the little mug declared, patting Cuphead’s back. “More here for this big head, to cheer him on and stuff.”

“That’s swell. Is your old man not comin’?” Ribby asked curiously, and the boys shook their heads. “Does he know where you are, at least?”

“He knows we’re _out_,” Cuphead danced around the wording as Mugman shot him a look. “Does that count?”

Ribby and Croaks shared a confused expression before the latter piped up, “Uh, I guess? Maybe, sure, but Cups you really gotta—”

“—bring the heat? No problem-o. I’ve got energy running through me like milk through a straw and I’m ready to put the hurt on somebody!”

A bellicose cackle startled the four and had them turn to a rather interesting looking individual. He didn’t look like any Inkwell resident they had ever seen, what with his large jagged mustache and shorter and fatter demeanor. He sat on a barstool looking their way with an unfinished glass of something by his elbow. Cuphead would have found it a little comical how the man’s feet couldn’t reach the floor had it not been for his deceiving size when he approached him and Mugman, easily towering over them.

“Ready to put the hurt on someone, huh?” A strong Italian accent flowed out. “How old are you, _chiacchierone_? Your brother or papa run this place and that’s why they let you in?”

Nothing in Cuphead’s face betrayed his slight apprehension. “Who’s asking?"

“Ooh, a feisty little one, eh? Watch those words kid, because you don’t know where you’re headed next.”

“I can head to the floor with you. How about it? One on one, you and me mister?”

The strangely dressed man moved so close Cuphead could smell garlic on his breath. He could see the tension in his black eyes and almost hear the intensity in his grinding teeth. Then, without warning, the man threw his head back and exploded in laughter.

“You, you and me…this little china tea cup…_Bwa ha ha!_”

There were tears streaming out his eyes, everyone had stopped their respective activities to stare, and Cuphead… Oh, he was red in the face, and no amount of arm tugging from Mugman or advice to “forget the bozo” from Ribby and Croaks could redirect his mind. Or his finger. The chub went from roaring in laughter to grunting in surprise when a large peashooter blast sucker-punched his gut and sent him flying into a table, sending the patrons that were sitting around to flee before they could get smooshed.

Three beats of silence floated around the clip joint before scattered whoops and hollering for an, albeit, unofficial start for the match but an eye opening one at that, sounded in the air. Cuphead absentmindedly took in the cheers, still reeling from the whole _china tea cup_ comment.

“Don’t call me a tea cup,” he all but growled towards the mustached-Italian.

“Yeah, the fella can only handle so much over the brim! A wonder he hasn’t bubbled over yet.”

Cuphead turned, wondering if who had spoken was trying to grind his gears as well or was genuinely backing him up. A large tomato frog, slightly taller than Ribby but not matching Croaks’ intimidating height, covered his mouth with a drink as Cuphead looked over − but he caught the challenging smirk no problem.

“Ain’t your pops ever tell ya not to play with guns kid? You’ll shoot your eye out,” the bright reptile continued, earning chortles from his audience. He downed his drink in one sitting and stood, approaching Cuphead in the same manner the Italian fellow had. “I’ll take ya up on that one on one, if the offer’s still on the table.”

Cuphead smirked too, holding out a hand. “You’re on!”

When he was pulled back, he expected a concerned Mugman, not a concerned Ribby. “You sure you wanna go against R.B. Hook?” He whispered.

“Who?”

“The Red Baron Hook. Got his name ‘cause folks could only recall the letters ‘R’ and ‘B’ after brawlin’ him. Why, Croaks here took him on last month and came home with a doozy of a knot on his head.”

“Nearly forgot my last name,” the brown frog remembered with a painful nod. “Least I think I got one. Knocked me to sleep, I couldn’t ever remember if I had one or not.”

If Cuphead was all nerves (he knew he wasn’t), he didn’t show it. He waved a hand and strolled over to the waiting frog, throwing a “nice try guys” over his shoulder.

“You were exaggerating about this R.B. guy, right?” Mugman tried not to show his nerves but his voice betrayed him. “Just trying to gas Cuphead up and not scare him, right?”

The lack of response and what sounded like “better get the doc” made his stomach ache and his legs weak. His noticeably shakiness was a stark contrast to the ready and cheeky daredevil on his brother’s shoulder. He did his trademark hoisting up his shorts, smiling with determination while R.B. Hook cracked his neck to the left and right before spitting something out of view.

The cup’s agile movements allowed him to slip under the reptile’s tall legs, his arms _thisclose_ to being seized. He could only fire four little pellets until he was back on his feet, dodging a brutal slam to the floor meant for his head, and dared to hop on R.B.’s arm like it was a seesaw, firing another round of pea-sized but painful shots. Had he been a couple inches taller or one second slower, Cuphead would have said hello to his opposite fist. He let out a short laugh at the safe distance he managed to jump to and waved to the slightly confused but very peeved animal, who had punched his own arm pretty hard when trying to get the dish.

Leaping like a panther, R.B.’s tongue shot out and latched onto the cup’s handle, sending him a good five feet in the air and catching him again before the fall could rattle him, making him land on a different table. Cuphead executed a clumsy somersault after the abrupt drop and rose, only to butt his head into the stomach of R.B. It was his turn to give a cheeky wave, then he inflated his throat to send him tumbling for the crowd like a backwards bowling ball.

Croaks leaned down while Mugman placed a ginger hand on Cuphead’s back to steady him. He was dizzy for sure and felt close to throwing up, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

“Cups buddy, what’s your last name?” Croaks asked, earning a confused look.

“Uh, I don’t think I have one.”

“Okay, I’m gettin’ the doc.”

“Relax you goof, he ain’t got a scratch or crack on him,” Ribby remarked, putting his boxing glove on Cuphead’s shoulder. “You feelin’ alright though Cups? If you gotta quit, no shame in it.”

Cuphead shook free of cobwebs, flicked his straw back to its correct spot, and marched back into the brawl. He had no idea what he stepped in or where it had come from, but not a second too late did he find himself gliding across the wet floor and falling on his keister. The smug grin from R.B. that he didn’t bother to hide made it clear who was responsible.

“Whoa now kid, what’s the rush? You got a hot date at the motion pictures?” He called out, getting half the joint to laugh. He leapt with startling speed, the momentum from his land and Cuphead’s already small weight making him jump into R.B.’s mitts. “Shouldn’t be rushing into fights if you got someplace to be.”

Once again R.B.’s throat puffed up, forcibly bumping the cup some feet away and having him crash into a corner, sending down a mini drink avalanche from an upper shelf that thankfully didn’t harm him by the shattered glass, but it sure made him sticky with soda. Cuphead’s angry pie-shaped eyes were profanities unsaid. In rapid succession, he fired out a string of blue shots, though only a couple managed to catch R.B. off guard.

The frog simply dodged the rest and got close enough to deliver a mean hook to the face, but the close contact spilled out Cuphead’s instincts to focus bigger energy into his finger gunning and to get away from the wall. Through the blur of the light show, he didn’t know what he had hit on R.B. to get him staggering like a newborn deer but nevertheless used this to his advantage and had him with his back to the wall.

R.B. sucked at the air like it had suddenly become thick and was now almost too difficult to draw in. He stared daggers at a dish more than half his size actually walloping his sorry butt in front of other fighters with one single finger. R.B. Hook didn’t settle for defeat or even a tie, only the big ole W, he thought audaciously.

In that second between standoff and fighting, Cuphead was banking on this big baddie to make a mistake. Both faces were unreadable; no fear, no invitational smirk, and both seemed to be sizing the other up. One was young and strong with one hell of an origin firing him up, yet reckless and cocksure. The other wore experience in almost triple digit wins on his sleeve, but then his swollen ego would topple him over for the worse if he wasn’t smart enough, quick enough, crafty enough.

There was stillness on the two sides. If hatred was visible, the air would have been colored crimson. Then suddenly movement, the crowd cheering wildly, more whooping and egging on, and then vision started dissolving into a nighttime darkness.

. . . . . . . .

With a gurgle in his throat, Cuphead woke almost in a bad mood with an equally bad taste in his mouth. He spit to the side and felt almost empty after he’d done it, like he just threw away his last fresh breath. He didn’t feel bruised or winded, but one leg was a bit on the sore side and his gloves each had a hole in the finger. Something shifted under him, and it took just a second to realize Mugman was carrying him piggyback.

“Mornin’ bro,” he greeted a tad too nonchalantly.

Cuphead’s eyes widened. “_Morning?_ I thought it was just past three o’clock!”

Mugman chuckled. “Just messing with you Cups. I think it’s ten minutes to four, and we’re due home soon. Remember, we promised Elder Kettle we wouldn’t stay out too late.”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, I remember.” Cuphead squeezed an eye shut, his straw lazily rattling around his rim. “Wha… _Ahem_, what happened on the boat? It’s like I blinked and suddenly I’m on your back. I didn’t pass out, did I?”

“Erm, yes and no. See, you were doing really well bro; you almost had him in the corner and you were doing all these sweet moves and kicks. I think that R.B. guy got a bit frightened, ‘cause he started puffing up and let out this…this… I dunno what it was! At first, I thought it was drool.”

Cuphead’s other eye snapped shut as he groaned. “Gross! Is he some rabid dog or something?”

“No, but like I said, I _thought_ it was drool. Croaks told me R.B.’s a tomato frog, and whenever they feel scared or threatened, they let out this gummy toxic so nobody messes with them.” Mugman glanced over his shoulder the best he could. “It looked like you were having an allergic reaction when it got on you, and you couldn’t speak or walk that well, so the folks called it a draw and I carried you out.”

“They…I was, and then…a _draw?_” Cuphead slumped against his brother’s back, lips curled in a heated scowl. “That cheat. I gotta have a rematch. You think I could write to him? Forget it, I’m writing him whether he likes it or not. Ooh, that cheat!”

“You do whatever you need to.” For a minute the siblings remained quiet, and Cuphead let the crunching of leaves under Mugman’s boots calm him down. Then the blue little dish slowly picked up with, “You think R.B. has a brother? Or a pal he hangs out with?”

Cuphead shrugged. “Sure, everyone’s got a pal. Why?”

“If you write him, he might be so bent that he’d ring up his pal for backup, be on the next thing smoking, and two against one wouldn’t be fair, so you’d need a pal, too.” Mugman shrugged too, not having to turn around to see Cuphead’s expectant grin. “I dunno, just somethin’ to think about.”

“_Heh_, you at least gotta cheer me on when I’m goin’ toe to toe with him. And I’ll do the same for you.” Cuphead leaned over, holding out a pinky. “Promise pal?”

Mugman smiled and stopped to seal the deal. “Promise buddy.”


	19. Icky Isolation {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mugman has caught the stomach flu and needs all the rest he can get. But as the days pass while he recovers, Cuphead begins to miss his pal and decides to cheer him up.

It must have started a few days ago when the boys were out having a good time beside the stream that ran by their home. It was hard to tell, especially when the morning had been so deceivingly beautiful − quiet, still like a painting, and there were little breezes to distract them from their play of chess under the trees.

The sun had shone in a private corner of the sky, reaching Cuphead and Mugman just enough to warm their glassware after they had messed around in the water. A revisit of the old board game turned into a brief wrestling match in a flower patch, which then transitioned to a random game of tag along the outskirts of the mainland.

The usual “you can’t catch me!” and “you’re too slow!” rang through the air, catching the attention of the islanders that either got them smiling at the active youth or rolling their eyes, knowing their peaceful day had been shattered. At some point in the game, Mugman had stopped to rest on a tree for balance, though his porcelain looked paler than usual. Cuphead hadn’t gotten a word out in time when the younger mug had bent over, hands gripping his stomach and something fowl spilling from his mouth.

At first Cuphead had thought, _he ran too fast, his breakfast didn’t settle yet, he’ll be okay._ But Mugman kept retching and coughing and nearly burst into tears when it wouldn’t stop. The red dish remembered how fast he had run home once upon a time ago when the two had barely been sippy cups, and Mugman had chipped off a good deal of his rim after a game of tag. He was heavier to carry, but that didn’t stop Cuphead from running all the way back home and shouting for Elder Kettle.

The poor thing had the stomach flu.

“But Cuphead seems just fine. No shared symptoms or anything,” Inkwell’s best medical specialist, Doctor Shelby, declared after checking him over. “If he does start showing signs of a fever or feels nauseous, just send over for me and I’ll be back in a flash.”

“That’s a relief, and thank you Doctor Shelby. I really do appreciate you coming over on short notice,” Elder Kettle said, placing a hand over Mugman’s warm forehead. “My poor boy. Do you have any idea how he could’ve caught it?”

“It’s mainly sneaky viruses.” Mugman squeaked at the intimidating word and pulled the covers up to his nose. “Is something spreading around the schoolhouse? Or maybe you boys have eaten something you weren’t supposed to?”

“The weather has been acting a little strange, and they’ve been in the water sometimes,” Elder Kettle pointed out after the two shook their heads at each question. “Could it be from that?”

“It’s possible. For now though, I recommend Cuphead sleep downstairs for the next few days so he won’t catch any airborne viruses, and wash any items the two may have interacted with together. Should we talk more downstairs?”

“Sure. Come along Cuphead, let’s have your brother rest.”

Both grownups headed down to the family room, but Cuphead remained where he stood and looked from his bedridden sibling to the opened door. Something around his heart beat out that it was his fault, and he couldn’t help feeling responsible. But what had he done? What could he do now? Had Mugman ever complained about being cold or hot while they had played? He thought he recalled him saying something along the lines of “retreating,” but had that been part of a game?

Cuphead went over to the bed and patted where he assumed Mugman’s knee was. “Don’t worry buddy, you’ll get better in no time.”

Mugman gave him a small smile. “You really think so?”

“Of course I do. Tell you what − the second you’re feeling better, we can do whatever you want for the rest of the day.” Cuphead held out his pinky. “Two whole days, if you want.”

A second pinky wrapped around it, sealing the deal. “Gosh, thanks Cups. I can’t wait.”

And speaking of wait, the Waiting Game was tagged and it obviously wasn’t fun for Mugman.

He felt lonely without Cuphead in the day, almost like he himself was the tricky virus and needed to be put away. He couldn’t call out to him if he was having trouble sleeping, and boy did he have a hard time dozing off. Even under a light sheet Mugman felt like he was trapped in an oven, so he’d toss and turn for a good portion of the night.

“I’m sorry, Elder Kettle.”

“Mugman, you don’t have to apologize. That’s why I’m here; to make sure you feel better.”

He felt like he was stuck to the bed with glue made out of embarrassment and shame as he watched his elderly guardian wipe up the small nasty circle of his dinner he’d coughed up. His mug was burning, not just from the fever, and his hands shook as they tightened around his blanket.

“I know, but I…I feel bad ‘cause you have to keep coming in here and being around me when I’m sick. What if you catch something, too? Then I’d feel really bad.”

Elder Kettle smiled and gently pat Mugman’s head. “It’ll take more than some coughs and a fever to keep this old kettle down from his boys. Get some rest now, okay? I’ll check up on you later.”

“I’ll try.”

The Waiting Game was definitely trying Mugman’s nerves. In the mornings his appetite wasn’t the best, as his upset stomach only allowed bland foods like bread and potatoes. It took a lot of prodding from Elder Kettle to make sure he had something in him, and even then Mugman could only manage three bites before complaining he wasn’t hungry. Since he also couldn’t get up as much or go outside to chase butterflies or play tag with Cuphead, he had to relieve his boredom in other ways. Reading the comics in the newspaper, drawing, counting the patterns on the floorboards…

He would’ve enjoyed it if the fever or a sudden headache wouldn’t clash at random times, making him lose focus and then eventually interest in whatever he was doing. Doctor Shelby had been over twice for a checkup in the past few days, noted a steady progress despite Mugman still feeling yucky inside, and said there was nothing more to be done but to let him sleep and stay hydrated.

“Does this mean I can go back to our room now?” Cuphead asked excitedly as the turtle doctor packed up to leave.

The doctor chuckled, head shaking in amusement. “Slow and steady wins the race, sonny. Let’s have Mugman get more rest for now.”

“But it’s been ten thousand years!”

“Cuphead.” Elder Kettle shook his head too at the unnecessary exaggeration. After he showed the doctor out, he sat the impatient cup on the couch and sighed. “I know you miss spending time with your brother, but sicknesses like these are tricky. The less we disturb Mugman, the faster he’ll get better.”

“But Elder Kettle, remember when me and Mugs had chickenpox? It was torture, but we still got to be together. What’s the big deal if I go back and sleep in my bed with him one space over? If he coughs, he can just cover his mouth and I’ll turn over.”

“Back when you boys got the chickenpox was a different situation. You both had caught it at the same time. There were days where you’d both share a bad cough, maybe a stomachache or a great big headache.” Elder Kettle lightly pinched Cuphead’s cheek, much to the cup’s irritation. “You heard the doctor, you little whippersnapper. Plus, I couldn’t bear to see both my boys suffering at the same time. Now why don’t you go out and get some air? Maybe make your brother a get-well card. I’m sure he’d love that.”

“Okay.”

A couple more days skittered past where Cuphead would always hear Mugman coughing or groaning upstairs, and today was no different. The sound traveled out the open bedroom window where the cup sat in the grass, plucking the green blades and wanting nothing more than to have his pal get better already and come out to play. But all he could do was stay inside and rest, stay inside and rest. Take his medicine too, and rest some more. Cuphead supposed he could go half a day without Mugman’s company, a full day was rare, two was the max.

Yet it had been five whole days and he still wasn’t allowed back in the room with him!

Elder Kettle _had_ told him sicknesses like these were tricky, but Cuphead just didn’t get it. He and Mugman had shared some sick days when they were little like Elder Kettle remembered, so how come they couldn’t be together now when almost a week had passed? If you were sick, of course you’d want someone at your side to tell you jokes, read you stories, tell you everything you missed outside.

Having pulled up enough grass, Cuphead jumped to his feet and went inside, determined to have Mugman get well now, not soon. He went straight for the bookcase in the den and took out as many books he could carry, knowing there was no bigger bookworm on Inkwell Isle than the little mug. Climbing the stairs two at a time and waltzing into the shared bedroom, Cuphead startled Mugman who was beginning to doze off.

“Cuphead, what’re you doing in here? You’re gonna catch what I have!”

“So what?”

“S-so what? You’ll get sick, too.”

“I don’t care Mugs. I just want you to get better.” Cuphead climbed on the bed and dumped the books on his lap. “Reading always makes you smile, so I brought some books up to read to you.”

“Oh… Gee, thanks. But I can’t help feeling you’ll get in trouble.”

“What’s Elder Kettle gonna do? Ground me for helping my sick brother? Besides, he went to the market to get some stuff for you. We’ll be fine.”

Mugman wasn’t 100% on board with having Cuphead around even though he did truly miss his company, but he smiled the best he could and leaned back on the pillows.

“If you say so. What books did you bring?”

Cuphead grinned. “Our favorites.”

The books combined held several hundred white pages, all channeling fantastical worlds of climbing mountains to the skies, cute damsels to be saved, velvet-coated captains with their hordes of treasures. Even if Cuphead didn’t hold the same tone of excitement whenever Elder Kettle used to read to them when they were tots and had to pause every now and then from a big word, Mugman still loved hearing the stories and liked to imagine the authors wrote with a magic wand, not a quill. Each book was one he could read over and over and still want more, and with each word it seemed like the perfect medicine to cool his fever down and relax his tense glass.

The hours were lost in the various imaginative worlds, and when Elder Kettle returned home from the market, he found a soft sight waiting for him upstairs: both his boys sprawled on one another, a pile of books littered around them and their mouths hanging open, letting out quiet and delayed snores. He noticed how the color was slowly returning to Mugman’s features, his fever wasn’t as blazing as it had been the first day, and his appetite must’ve been returning fast if the faint rumblings of his stomach weren’t a giveaway.

As gently as he could, the kettle moved Cuphead over to his own bed so the pair wouldn’t be crowding one another and closed the door as he returned downstairs to start lunch. He did hope that his oldest wouldn’t get sick too as his youngest was just starting to recover, but if in the slightest chance that would happen, he didn’t have to worry too much about it.

Each brother was the other’s best medicine, after all.


	20. What in Carnation! {Cuphead & Cagney}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Mugman still tender from sickness, Cuphead decides to bring him something colorful. But first he has to make sure it’s okay with Cagney before he disturbs anything in his garden.

The impatient spring up next in the seasonal line began spoiling the isles back to cooler temperatures for swimming in the lake and giving out the kind of breeze small and gentle enough at first, but you wouldn’t notice unless you stopped to be present in the moment. Flowers danced gaily on the hills, from blushing pink roses to chrysanthemums giving pearly white smiles down to the flashing red cosmos.

Cagney could never see flowers too many times. He never tired of their sweet fragrances or the beautiful rainbow freckles on the grass, and took great care and greater pride in his garden. No other meadow, forest, or field on the isles − and quite possibly off the mainland whenever his boastfulness stretched far enough − could be as plentiful in beauty as his own sanctuary.

Currently in his renowned field, the sentient carnation stretched out a leafy finger to one plant bearing leaves of a young green flower, its edges glittering gold and the petals a lot cooler than he expected. He encouraged the closed off seedling, wanting to see the prettiness he knew was inside, but nature had her way and her timing. The little sap wasn’t ready yet.

All he could do was savor its new-season aroma, make sure it found warmth and light, and in a few more days it would bloom. Cagney put his attention to a cluster of jasmines for the time being until he felt the faintest of vibrations in his roots stemming from the outer parts of his garden. He could sense whatever or whoever was around had intentions to trespass, and he wasn’t about to let one measly squirrel or some lost child disturb the enclosure.

Dark vines crept out the soil to block off where the flowers grew, but they weren’t up long when a burning pain snapped at them as if some invisible flame had pressed against them.

“_Augh!_” Now Cagney didn’t care who was on his property; they had attacked first and lit up his temper. He let his vines collapse to startle the intruder, but didn’t expect to be startled right back when a red-and-white bundle sprung out from the coils to avoid being crushed. “Cuphead?”

The little dish waved, the pointer finger on his glove barely smoking a light blue from a peashooter shot. “Hi Cagney. Sorry about shooting you.”

Cagney held him up by the back of his shirt. “You better have a good reason to be on my grass.”

“I’m not on your grass. You’re holding me.” Cuphead was dropped and plopped on his keister. “See? Now I’m on the grass.”

Back on his feet, Cuphead glanced around him at all the petals with rosy tints or bright mantles of blues and yellows. He noticed some had hearty tangerine centers while others looked like they were swirling silver in milky white blossoms. There were wild flowers that were content in the shade with the tall grass and trees, and there were plenty of crocuses and common daisies that competed to grow toward the skies before dusk.

Cuphead crouched down in front of a patch of honeysuckle, poking at the tight-budded bulbs in the ground. The stems were wet and the dampness seeped through his gloves, but one was beginning to open. A swift leafy hand separated him from prodding any further. Cuphead stepped back at Cagney’s usual grouchy face whenever anyone showed up on his domain, with or without invitation.

“What are you doing here?” The latter asked, and the cup smiled.

“Mugs has been under the weather for a while, but I think he’s getting better. I thought maybe some flowers would cheer him up.”

“What did he catch?”

“Somethin’ in his stomach. He was throwing up and moaning about a fever forever. Whatever it was, I’m just glad it’s over and we can play again.”

Cagney’s eyes went from snappy to disturbed to downright confused. “And you think he’s ready to be around flowers again?”

“Uh-huh. I’ve been looking everywhere for the good ones, but I can’t stay out too late. Which of these do you think will cheer him up the fastest?” Cuphead added, holding a flower in either hand.

Cagney hadn’t even seen the boy pluck one of his precious children and all but folded in on himself. His vines shot back out, tightening around both of his forearms and bringing him close to his not grouchy but completely burnt up face. Cuphead didn’t seem to have a witty comeback up his sleeve and could only grin sheepishly, dropping the flowers and shaking his gloves in place.

“Hey buddy, c’mon, I didn’t mean to sour your mood. I’m just thinking of Mugman. You want him to get better too, don’t you? He’s your pal, too.”

“Pick your flowers somewhere else and don’t disturb me again. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.”

The tendrils released Cuphead’s arms and shooed him off, being thrice as careful with doctoring up the plucked Julia Child and orchid as Cagney turned to find an empty patch of grass. Cuphead dusted off his glassware, thankfully just a little sore and not chipped, and turned to leave when a lightbulb flickered. His straw jumped at the idea, and the corner of his mouth twitched into his cheek.

“So I can’t pick any of your flowers here?”

He received a scowl and a snappy, “Do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“No, I was just making sure. Okay, I’ll be on my way.” Cuphead made sure the end of his sentence was loud enough and his footsteps were deliberately slow. “I’ll just pick some better flowers over in the mainland. I’m sure Hilda can see prettier fields from the clouds.”

Nothing.

“Bon Bon’s pretty girly, too. I’ll ask her next if she’s seen snazzier flowers around the isles than these.”

A twitch.

“Actually, never mind. I’m gonna run back home and ask Elder Kettle if I can go to the city.”

Almost…

“I’m sure they’ll have _thousands_ of gardens there.”

“That polluted pigsty has nothing compared to my−! T-to what we have here on Isle One! Go on”—The vines made a reappearance to tug Cuphead back—“look around for yourself. You’ll see the difference in my garden. Hurry up and find something.”

The cup’s face was of barely concealed glee and there was triumph in those pie-shaped eyes. He bit the side of his mouth, a smirk dimpling his cheek as he casually strolled the garden once more. Weed-free flower beds were surrounded by perfectly tended grass, not a blade an inch taller or shorter than the other. Iridescent fuchsias and saffrons circled baby clumps of willow while chattering birds and squirrels kept a respectable distance from the spongy turf.

“Wow,” Cuphead breathed out, unable to keep in his awe. “Golly Cagney, I’ve never seen this much of your garden before.”

“That’s because you’ve never cared to visit.”

“That’s ‘cause you hardly let anyone visit.”

“Well I would if they weren’t so disruptive, like you two.”

“I don’t think so. You’ve always got a mean look on your face, so it’s no wonder you don’t get a lot of visitors. Just let your flowers do the talking.” Cuphead pointed at the multiple flora he didn’t know the names to outside of rose, daisy, tulip, et cetera. “Didn’t you know? You’re the best gardener in all of Inkwell!”

Cagney looked away and found a distraction in the bushes, peppering up some buds that didn’t need the attention. Cuphead bit back another grin and rocked on the heels of his boots, waiting for the carnation to stop blushing like a schoolgirl (he knew he was, but Cagney would never admit it).

“What is Mugman’s favorite flower?” The large carnation finally asked, still not facing Cuphead.

“Oh, that’s easy! He’s a sucker for…uh, what’re they called? Lemme see, they’re um, uh…” A brown boot feverishly tapped in place in order to get the thinking process up and running. “He likes blue?”

Cagney crossed his arms, disbelief scribbled over his yellow face. “You want to cheer Mugman up with flowers and you don’t even know which ones he’d like?”

“He likes all of them!” Cuphead exclaimed, hands thrown in the air in exasperation. “Whenever we’re out, he gawks at different ones.” He shrugged. “He’s not picky, but he’s not specific, either. I’m just gonna get him roses and call it a day.”

Cagney scoffed, holding onto the hem of the cup’s red shorts when he tried walking off.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going to some fancy banquet, so try again. Roses are always expected as a gift, and there’s hundreds of flowers to choose from here if you look. You can do better than just roses.”

“Blue roses, then?”

_“Cuphead.”_

He held up his hands in mock surrender, rolling his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll look some more.”

Cagney, too, felt his eyes rolling as he watched the indecisive little dish sulk around the garden. He had his roots travel close behind in case he tried any funny business, but a side of the sentient flower had a feeling that Cuphead was being truly genuine in wanting his little brother to look at something colorful again. Cagney didn’t know how long he’d been sick, and he didn’t know if he really was able to stomach (no pun intended) newer fragrances of the outside.

“He better not be funny and pick roses,” he muttered, smoothing aside some lavender and eyeing a couple geraniums emitting a green and slightly peppery smell. “Maybe you fellas? Hm, maybe not. You’ll hog all the sunshine, anyway.”

Cagney considered the white mums at one point − they were often an Inkwell resident’s favorite with their wonderfully dry, sweet (but not too sweet), very pretty and feminine fragrance. But unfortunately, they were still itty bitty babies, and Cagney could sense they were too shy and not ready to be plucked until they fully blossomed.

Most of his begonias weren’t scented, but he thought they’d be better suited freely hanging in windowsills, not constricted in a vase. Lilies and lilacs were too high in scent, but those introverted little sunflowers over there…and those new irises he planted one season ago behind the trees…

“Okay, peonies go in between like this so they won’t crowd the hydrangeas. Just one more daffodil to− oh, alright, not this one. How about you, sweetheart? There we go, nice and—”

“Cagney?”

The plant in question jumped hard in place, hundreds of questions about the time and which part of his garden he was in and who was speaking flooded his mind. Had he been speaking out loud? Gosh, he hoped not. He took in the sight of a suddenly muddied Cuphead and instantly started to frown. Cuphead was quick to hold up his hands. 

“I didn’t touch anything! I just fell and couldn’t find…” His voice trailed off by the explosion of pastels and petals Cagney was holding in one hand. “Gosh, do you have a hot date? Who got lucky?”

“_Tsk_, Mugman you dunce.” Cagney shoved the growing bouquet in Cuphead’s small hands, which was ironically looking like it belonged at some fancy banquet, and used one of his vines to push him away. “These should be enough. Now go on, go. I’ve got other plants to tend to.”

“Gee, thanks Cagney! Didn’t know you could be this swell of a pal. Mugman’s gonna be so pleased! Oh hey”—Cuphead held up a single blue-and-purple hydrangea and smiled—“this is for you. Get well soon.”

Cagney’s eyes narrowed as he took his own flower back. “Get well soon? I’m not even sick.”

“I was talking about your face. It’s in that ugly frown again. Hope it gets well soon.”

_“Will you get out before I change my mind!”_


	21. Devil’s Details {Cuphead}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One hell of a nightmare rattles Cuphead to the core.

The skies of Inkwell Isle rolled in a wet and wide ash-colored blanket, tormenting the flickering blues and yellows of daylight that once they faded, a dull canvas with no stars would be in control.

A clock somewhere inside the Elder Kettle’s home ticked to a new hour, and underneath the canopies of the trees lay a hopscotch grid made of twigs, rocks, and some leftover paint from the mainland. The tanned kettle hadn’t wanted Cuphead and Mugman’s clothes getting dirty with chalk before dinner, so the boys had put their creative minds together and scrapped up an interesting set of squares. They weren’t the most perfect straight lines, but it was pure and fun, and they stayed through rain, wind, or shine.

Cuphead’s eyes stayed on his boots, determined to keep his winning streak. One, two, three, four, _splat_. He felt a raindrop clip his straw, followed by several others scattering to catch up. The little cup didn’t have the heart to go back inside just yet, so he moved the game toward the edge of the riverbank where the trees drooped further, their leaves perfect to huddle under from the shade on sunny days or keep dry from drizzles such as this.

“It’s raining,” Mugman stated the obvious, looking up at the sky.

“I know,” Cuphead responded, fixing the lopsided squares and brushing his gloves to clean off the dirt.

“Should we stop?”

“Nah, it’s only water. It’ll stop soon. C’mon, it was your turn.”

Wilting sunshine broke through whatever cracks of greenery it could find, lighting up paths ahead and coating the wildflowers and berry bushes in a pale golden shower. The humming from a chilly breeze swiftly turned into a sharp whistling wind, carrying all sorts of pulpy fragrances over from the next isles. It was barely seven o’clock when a hazy, crooked moon hung atop a spittle of indigo and mauve, the sight making Cuphead’s eyes heavy with apprehension rather than exhaustion. He crawled further under the trees and leaned back on his palms to watch Mugman hop his way back.

“Cuphead! Mugman!” The shouts of Elder Kettle made their heads turn. “Don’t you boys see this storm right in front of you? Come inside!”

“Aw, but−!”

“No buts Cuphead! You two get inside or you’ll catch your death of cold.”

The brothers shared a disappointed look but knew the kettle had a point, for if they stayed out any longer their glass and porcelain would crack − or worse. So they shuffled into the cozy home, shaking off their boots by the door and heeding their guardian’s advice to dry and then wash up properly before they could eat. The red and blue cups were already salivating in anticipation once they were at the table, watching Elder Kettle serve plates full of beans, skinned potatoes and bread, and a bowlful of mushroom soup as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“Can I lead grace?” Mugman asked Elder Kettle before the latter got a chance to sit. The child stuck out his tongue at Cuphead, who had shot him a glare just as he was rushing to pull his plate forward. “We haven’t done in it a while.”

“Of course my boy. Lead us on.”

Two pairs of hands clasped together while the third hastily joined in after popping a roll in his mouth. All eyes closed as a giddy Mugman began the prayer in his soft voice, the rain on the window panes creating a soothing ambiance for a nice dinner. Just as he was about to close off with an “amen”, knocking at the front door came quietly first and then there was silence. The family of three traded confused looks, their eyes asking one another if they had heard the noise, too. The knock was louder and faster when it happened again, and it gave no one a chance to move when whoever was on the other side seemed furious and hit the door with all their strength.

Elder Kettle reached for his cane. “Who in the world is out in the middle of a storm like this?”

Cuphead hopped out his chair. “I’ll go see who it is.”

He raced to the sitting room before there were any protests, peeking out the window to get a view of the sudden guest. He squinted around the splashing raindrops and made out three figures a foot or two away from the door hunched at an odd angle. All were masking their identity for some reason and dark in color, as if they were wearing cloaks or some longer form of attire. The dish couldn’t imagine any of their friends or neighbors needing to hide themselves in order to visit the private house in the woods.

He wanted to open the door, but…

“Cuphead, who is it?”

…he felt the threat before _they saw him_.

Moving at the speed of sound, the door was kicked from its hinges that would have completely crushed the cup had he not been by the window. Whoever or whatever had been outside casually trespassed into the now puddle-stricken den, moving formlessly, gracefully and aggressively all at the same time. In each of the triplicate’s hands were the kind of blasters the boys had seen plenty of times in their comics or heard about in hero/villain specials on the radio.

Seeing them in _real life_ and knowing what was at the _end_ of that lead-spewing mouth, something was in Cuphead’s mind, invading his confidence and shirking the fearlessness he was forced to build since…those hellish days.

His glass all but shattered from the pressure he was putting on it to _get up_,**_ move_**, _go!_ When one of the things made a grab for his foot, that was the trigger to book it. He rushed to warn his family back in the kitchen, catching their wide-eyed stares from the loud crash from their ruined door, but it was as if his teeth were permanently clamped shut.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he speak?

The soot-dyed intruders seemed to be shoving themselves into the threshold between the living room and kitchen, as if they were fighting with their very own bodies to move fast or slow, stealthily or distinct. Mugman screamed and fell out of his chair, stumbling to hide behind Elder Kettle while Cuphead did the same.

“_Get the hell out of our home!_”

The kettle’s voice was bloodcurdling, completely unrecognizable from the honeyed encouragements that warmed his boys’ hearts; the opposite of the homely voice of reason whenever the brothers needed guidance in the dark; no longer the willowy and wise touch Cuphead and Mugman always felt safe around.

Being brave meant being afraid − at least that’s what Cuphead thought. It came with a price but the two went hand in hand, and he had no doubt fear was surging through the Elder Kettle’s worn and tanned body at what these intruders would do not to him, but to his two precious angels.

He chose to face the dangers, to conquer it, and was willing to die for his boys. That’s what he was shouting, screaming, demanding; “shoot me! Go ahead, shoot _me!_”

The nightmare was more of a night terror, because it felt as if Cuphead would give up the ghost from the pain in his head. Soon the scene changed and he was coughing from the tail end of a cold gasp, waking on command and every sense urging him to claw his way to sit up. His bedroom was like being shown one toy and one piece of furniture at a time in some crazy memory game, but it was worse in the dark.

The fear was still fresh and sat on the child like a pillow over his mouth and nose, demanding his legs to go weak, his stomach to lurch, and his head to ache. Enough air was getting in, but it was crippling all the same. Adrenaline choked him, surging so fast he could taste the saliva thickening his mouth to a rancid paste, then it took his heart at full pelt that he thought it would explode.

Cuphead forced the horrid taste to go down, going so far as to clamp his hands over his mouth and thinking of things that didn’t make him nauseous − playing in the woods, chasing butterflies, Mugman, Elder Kettle.

He actually gasped out loud, again covering his mouth too little, too late after the noise, but he hadn’t woken Mugman so that was good. He held his breath when slipping out of bed and crossing the hall to where the elder pot slept. When all he saw was a small empty bed, that barely helped the bad thoughts whispering in the back of his mind.

_You know in the dream Elder Kettle…you know in the dream when Elder Kettle shouted…_

“Elder Kettle?” Cuphead’s voice was hoarse and straining to keep quiet from the scare as he tiptoed downstairs, searching every nook and cranny for his caretaker. He did it again, a third time, a fourth and fifth time. “Elder Kettle!”

He wasn’t there.

Adrenaline wasn’t choking Cuphead this time; it was complete raw emotion. As much as he tried to hold it in, he couldn’t kid himself, and the terror and hopelessness and pain he had felt back there stressed out of his throat in the form of a silent scream. _Where is Elder Kettle?_ He stumbled in the dark, numbly clasping onto anything for support. _**Where**_ _is Elder Kettle?!_ His cries were stifled at first as he attempted to hide his own fright so he wouldn’t scare his conscience all over again, then at the snap of fingers he was overcome by a wave of his emotions and broke down entirely.

Cuphead’s shoulders shook, his hands clutched at his head, and he made no attempt to conceal or even wipe away his tears or the snot grossly clinging to his face. That nightmare had scared him. Terrified him! What had he ever done to deserve to see, hear, live in a moment like that? In that moment, it almost didn’t matter how he and his brother had faced much worse events that would make the evening terror look like a walk through a spring meadow. He could be the greediest, most selfish, and the biggest troublemaker in all of Inkwell.

His family meant the world to him.

Cuphead’s cries almost melted by the bitter silence around him that he didn’t immediately register arms around him until a pair of lips ghosted his cheek. He jumped hard in place, red-rimmed and painfully watery eyes taking in the blurry blue outline of Mugman. He couldn’t get himself to look away, even as his lips trembled and his shoulders heaved again with emotion. Without needing a cue, the younger blue dish held his older brother tight in his arms and said not one word to him.

He let him cry it all out, rocking him slowly as he sobbed unceasingly, hands clutching his pajama shirt and his tears soaking through to his chest. A tiny lapse let Cuphead pull away, blinking hard through tears, before he collapsed again. Mugman encouraged him to breathe slow at one point, his gasping ragged like a tangled yo-yo. Nice and steady, over and over, in and out.

Soon enough the boys heard the front door open and shut, letting in every ounce of the fading moonlight. Cuphead launched himself into the safe and real arms of his guardian, never wanting to go a day without his pure, selfless, warm love. There was no pain, no wind, no rain in his hold, but the hurt in the back of his mind slithered forward by the biggest reminder.

“I-I had the worst nightmare. You and Mugs were in it, a-and… _Grandpa!_”

Theories of if the kettle and two cups were related by blood could always be up for debate, but ever since he could remember Cuphead and Mugman had grown up calling him Elder Kettle as a token of respect. They of course thought of him as their grandfather but never addressed him that way. For one of his boys to use the familial term meant he was on the brink of hopelessness, and he had only seen this happen one time when his dear children’s lives were at stake. He had just brewed up that assisting potion, and the amount of guilt and self-hatred in his eldest’s eyes after he had taken it and his _want_ to say “grandpa, can you ever forgive me” instead of “Elder Kettle, we’ll make the right choice” broke his heart.

The kettle’s heart broke all over again. He had thought he’d be back in time after waking to earlier knocks at the door from their produce neighbors in a bit of a late night emergency. He hadn’t thought to leave a note, convincing himself he’d be back in ten minutes flat and he could go back to sleep without Cuphead or Mugman even knowing he was gone. Seeing the consequences of failing to do something so simple made him disgusted in himself, and as he brought the trembling cup closer, he _swore_ on his former knightly sword he would never do something like that again to either of his boys.

Cuphead breathed a whole lot slower now, the stress losing its tension in his arms and legs.

“I love you boys with all my heart. You know this, right Cuphead? Mugman?”

The two never had a doubt in their minds, and they never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish to say this wasn’t written about an actual nightmare I had some time ago. It really affected me, and I remember it waking me at 2 a.m. and being on the phone with my best friend, grandma, and eventually my mom (she was in Elder Kettle’s position) until at least 7 a.m. locked in my dorm bathroom sobbing because I couldn’t get a hold of her for so long. I don’t think about it now, but remembering how it made me sob for five hours straight…
> 
> Dreams are whack yo. So I decided to turn it into something positive and write some good ole family dynamics when dealing with nightmares. ❤


	22. Aeroplane Aces {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flying is a luxury for Inkwell residents with deep pockets. But for Cuphead and Mugman, it’s just another day hobby they can enjoy with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to all of my readers − yes, YOU! − for giving my Cuphead story so much attention and love. It’s on its 22nd chapter and going on strong :) I really do love this game and fandom with all my heart, and soon we’ll have a new DLC to rage all over again and our own cartoon!
> 
> Feel free to leave a suggestion or two if you’d like to see something special, because writing these chapters is just my cup of tea. ❤️💙

Where the third isle’s ocean met the sky, a hazy pink, red and white band separated the delicate hues as if mother nature was tired of all the variants of blue on her palette and desired to add something new. Some of the clouds sat patiently over the island like sky-bound icebergs, as cracked and rigid as the towering caverns shadowing the edges of Inkwell Isle Two. An aeroplane wing sliced through the sky, and the little pilot flask maneuvering it smiled down at the sight below.

His flying machine had felt like home to him for years. He’d flown in it so often that he could curl up and sleep as easily as dozing on the couch. He would never, of course, but he could easily navigate with his eyes closed. He never got enough airborne; feeling the cool air on his face, letting the hum of the engines relax his mind, and oh boy did he love sharing his flight knowledge with others!

It was his pride and joy.

The yellow-and-brown spotted aeroplane curved a bit near a patch of woods. The flask watched the fluttering leaves dance in the high boughs, almost making a roof above them, and soon spotted the mushroom-shaped roof of the Elder Kettle’s cottage. From the chimney came a welcoming silver trail, sending the flask into a nostalgic and warm frenzy.

After circling back to safely leave his plane behind, the little vial made the jog over to the private woodland property, taking a minute or two to catch his breath before knocking. Instead of the tannish-looking teapot opening the door, the little blue-nosed twin of the household answered with curiosity at first, then nearly knocked the flask on his feet with a great big hug.

“Ron! It’s been so long! How have you been? Me and Cups haven’t seen you in forever. You wanna come in? We were just about to have lunch.”

Ron chuckled and pat the eager mug on the head, not knowing which question to answer first or what to comment. He wound up baring the invisible invitation to pop in for bread and butter sandwiches despite his constant polite declines that he didn’t want to burden the family. And of course, being the grandfatherly figure he was, Elder Kettle waved off the dismisses with encouragement to eat.

“Nonsense sonny. You’re welcome for meals anytime,” he made sure to tell the flask with a smile, serving him his own plate with a spot of milk on the side.

“Yeah Ron! Don’t be a stranger,” Cuphead added, spraying his chewed up sandwich as he talked.

Elder Kettle gave him a reprimanding look about his manners, then turned to face the flask. “It’s one of the things I could at least do for you for helping my boys. I don’t know how you do it, flying high above the ground like that, but bless your soul.”

“There’s nothin’ to it, really,” Ron said, bashfully fiddling with his goggles. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking of taking a swell fly across the isles today. Maybe explore those grottos around Isle Two, or scope out the tides by the beach in the city.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve been tracking the wind patterns like a hawk and planned all week for this kind of leisure.” Ron shrugged, reaching for his glass of milk to hide his grin. “But I haven’t had much luck finding a pair of flying buddies to keep me company.”

The old kettle chuckled, catching the anticipating look his boys gave one another. He understood where this conversation was going. “Is that so?”

“We could be your flying buddies!” Cuphead exclaimed before Ron could answer.

“Oh no, no boys, I wouldn’t want to take up your play time. Besides, it wouldn’t be up to me.”

In an instant, Cuphead and Mugman were out their chairs, practically on their knees begging their guardian for his approval. Elder Kettle waved his hands at their overlapped pleas, forever in the dark by how kids could scrounge up so much bottomless energy like it was nothing. Though the sight before Ron was cute and a little amusing, he hoped he hadn’t disrupted any plans the three had had before his visit. He would feel guilty barging in without even asking if they were free first, but lucky for him, his worrying was in vain.

“You two will be careful? You’ll listen to everything Ron tells you to do, and you won’t go sneaking off misbehaving?” Elder Kettle was currently asking.

“Yes, sir!” Cuphead and Mugman promised together, holding up their pinkies, to which the kettle connected with each of his own.

“Very well. Just finish your lunch and be back by seven o’clock if you still want to go to Sally’s play.”

. . . . . . . .

Ron always knew it would be a fine day when he couldn’t feel any bearing temperatures or see any clouds dappled in the sky. Like an absence of weather all together, on fine days like this he felt the isles’ energy the same way he could recognize his own dance of emotions when flying. He grinned over at Cuphead and Mugman who were playing Chopsticks while he was occupied in cleaning off the propeller of his aeroplane.

“The Elder Kettle seems easy going with letting you boys go out to have all the fun your hearts desire,” Ron commented, wiping sweat off his brow.

“That’s what we love most about him. He loves it when we go outside to play,” Mugman replied over his shoulder, splitting the two on his left hand to just have one digit on each.

Cuphead nodded. “He says it’s better than being cooped up in the house.”

Ron chuckled. “Sometimes it’s nice being cooped up. You get to relax in your own space. Read too, or practice your handwriting.”

“Or math!” Mugman stuck his tongue out at his brother’s groan. “He’s just sore ‘cause he needs extra work with it. We’re learning long hand division now.”

“Well I’ll be! You know, lots of mechanics have to learn math in order to get things right with their aeroplanes. Gee, I could go on forever about all the aerodynamics you would need to know if you wanted to be a keen pilot like me. But for now”—Ron discarded his cleaning cloth and gestured for the boys to follow him—“let’s not gab while the sky’s bright and the wind’s low. High time for flyin’, yeah?”

Cuphead and Mugman gasped. Tucked below the trees were their custom red and blue aeroplanes the pilot had leant them and taught them how to fly in during their famous time of need. Both were sporting shinier and snazzier paint jobs and had all new wheels and propellers that reminded the boys of those neat but expensive model airplanes over in the city’s toy store. They hadn’t sat in them, caught sight of their wings, or talked about the flying machines in so, _so_ long, and Ron was really giving their adventure-loving hearts some fuel.

“Gosh Ron, you fixed them up just for us?” Mugman asked in awe.

“Must’ve cost you an arm and a leg to get new gears, huh?” Cuphead added.

“Not at all. You’d be surprised how many retired pals I’ve got. They always help me out in a pinch.” Ron helped each boy into the seats before jogging over to his own plane not too far hidden. “You boys remember how to fare the cockpit like I showed you?”

“We may be a little rusty!” Cuphead teasingly called out, his propellers already whirling.

“We’ll learn along the way!” Mugman joined in, adjusting his goggles.

Ron grinned from ear-to-ear. These boys were too much and were practically little brothers following in his footsteps.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Three aeroplanes rose off the ground in seconds. “Let’s fly boys!”

From the skies above came the soft rumblings akin to a summer thunderstorm. All the children below stopped their games and glanced up to see a red, blue and yellow/brown race in the deepest of blue skies. Confusion turned to awe, laughter turned grins up and moved feet to chase after the incredible inventions. It wasn’t every day that kids saw those cool winged creations zipping high above their heads. What a trip!

Up in the air for Cuphead and Mugman, they were sitting first class to an aviator’s Shangri-la. The air was afresh in its light breeze, and the clouds had invited one another to show the aeroplanes their beauty across the isles, warmly sparkling in the spring heat. In all of their seven aircraft battles, neither brother had had the time nor choice to appreciate the isles from new heights. They weren’t able to gawk at the carnival’s incredible pinwheel of colors or race with the incoming tides along the beach.

Fighting for your life was obviously the undisputed go-to above enjoying the aerial view of Inkwell. But golly, with the amount of time on their hands now, Cuphead and Mugman were going to savor each nanosecond off the ground. There was so much to see − the top of Grim Matchstick’s tower he guarded, the greens of the palm trees and the shining metal of the gleaming skyscrapers, the peaks of the Ferris Wheel and the mountains stretching over to isle three.

Boy, what a sight.

“Everything okay for you fellas?” Ron called over to the brothers as the three were making their second round across the rolling greenery of isle one.

“Never better!” Mugman assured with a thumbs up.

“You can make out the whole island from up here!” Cuphead exclaimed. He waved down at Cagney tending his garden, though it was unlikely the flower could see him. “Ron, this is so neat! Can we be your flying buddies more often?”

The flask did a double take to his left, then to his right. “You…you fellas would want to be my flyin’ buddies more often?”

“Sure would!” Mugman cheerfully affirmed.

“Even if it means just circling around in the air with me for who knows how long? I often lose track of time up here and wouldn’t want to bore you two!”

Cuphead laughed above the sound of the engines. “Mugs and I wouldn’t get bored! Promise!”

“Yeah, you can always find an adventure everywhere and we’d find fun ones with you Ron!” Mugman finished up, making the flask grin so wide he had to start preparing for a landing just outside isle three before he lost focus.

Cuphead and Mugman followed suit and hopped out their aeroplanes, glancing at one another in a bit of confusion and worry, wondering what had exactly made the flask stop flying. They were surprised when Ron scooped them up in a great big hug, spinning them around a bit before placing them back on their feet and putting a hand on either of their shoulders.

“Boys,” he started, his grin spreading fast, “I know a great while ago you were flying for an entirely different reason, but now I like to believe that you both hold a secret love for these planes. Not as much as I do to become a mechanic and professional, but enough that I’d feel a lot better knowing two good kids like you would take good care of these babies.”

The two dishes exchanged astounded expressions, the sudden offer leaving them open-mouthed and their eyes sparkling in surprise.

“Hot dog!” Cuphead cried out, while Mugman asked, “You really mean it Ron?”

Ron nodded without missing a beat. “Why not? Cuphead, Mugman, would you like these aeroplanes as your very own?”

The hug from earlier was quickly reciprocated, followed by a flood of _yeses_, _thank yous_, and plentiful other comments of gratitude. Ron chuckled at the word overflow and brought them in close, wondering just how in the world these kids could find the good _and_ an adventure in almost anything they set their minds to.

But, he guessed that much like being asked of his deep passion for the sky, only Cuphead and Mugman could answer from the heart.


	23. Starstruck {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure all of Inkwell sees Cuphead and Mugman as the heroes of their story, but the brothers see themselves as ordinary kids. According to their fans, they are so much more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first Cuphead request from SortOfABigDeal. Thank you so much for the idea, and I hope you enjoy! ❤️💙

A picnic was always something of a private clambake for the first isles, an excuse for the whole neighborhood to let their hair down. It wasn’t your average apple slices, milk, and peanut butter sandwiches picnic. Benches and outdoor tables, after they’d been set with the red-and-white checkered tablecloths, were layered with trays or bowls of jellied oranges and sliced peaches, fresh bread sandwiches of all meats and spreads, baked potatoes and hard boiled eggs, and oven-toasted rolls with brie or cranberry sauce.

Two benches were dedicated just for desserts, happily piled with black bottom pies, sunshine cake, apple strudels, and minted strawberries from the fields. Beverages for the children ranged from lemonade to candy apple punch, whereas the adults had the option of cream tea or coffee − nice and “strong” to their liking, if they so wished.

Inkwell Isle One residents loved to outdo one another when it came to meals and treats for their spring and summer outings, and oftentimes by the end of the day, there would be so many leftovers but too many full stomachs. That called for a Day 2 of happy picnicking.

The springtime breeze carried chatter and laughter like fine raindrops, each a promise of a happy shower to come. As the newly cooled air moved the clouds, streaks of brilliance broke through from the patient sun. Cuphead let his eyes roam the picnic grounds, hearing the plates clatter and smelling all the different scents of all the different goodies.

“Gee, how many do you think’ll show up this time Mugs?”

“A hundred.” Mugman watched as Cinnamon, the mother of the little gingerbread girl from the second isles, added more to the collection of lemon tarts. “Maybe a hundred and five.”

“Maybe,” Cuphead echoed his brother, relaxing his arms behind his head and clicking his boots in anticipation. “This is gonna be the best picnic yet!”

“Uh huh. Boy, I can’t wait for dessert. Miss Kara Mel’s pudding is the best!”

“The greatest!”

A beat of silence.

“Wish I knew how it tasted.”

A second beat.

“Me too.”

As they say, third time’s a charm. Something in Cuphead’s eyes roused the little devil of mischief the more he thought about the treats, and the slightest curve on Mugman’s mouth ripened with equal jest. Grinning at one another in a silent ready-set-go notion, the brothers started crawling on their bellies around the trees and bushes, moving in between chairs and the tall legs of the distracted grownups in order to get to the dessert stand.

Mugman kept a lookout while Cuphead inched one of the huge bowls near the edge. The weight of it jolted him down into the tablecloth, rattling the pitchers and smaller plates, but other than that nothing had been disturbed and no one turned their heads. Well, no adults turned their heads.

The small shake of the dishes caught a tiny puffin’s attention, startling him enough to make him go airborne for a few seconds. When he and Cuphead made eye contact, the latter quietly shushed him and disappeared under the table alongside Mugman.

The brothers giggled at their cleverness, clinking two spoons like they were toasting and immediately dug in to the homemade delight. In four bites, or in seven at most, the banana-flavored confection was beginning to shrink, and it seemed the boys would be enjoying their own private clambake under the dessert table until the real picnic started.

That is until the tablecloth was lifted and the pair got caught mid-bite. But strangely (and thankfully) not by an adult.

The puffin who had seen them slip away with the pudding was poking his head under the table, his wide-eyed stare shining and his feathers bristling in astonishment.

“I knew it!”

The bird went in reverse, leaving Cuphead and Mugman to share a puzzled look while subdued noise floated around from the party outside. Cuphead’s eyes widened when he made out tall bodies on the other side, getting that stomach-sinking feeling he knew all too well when caught misbehaving. Another look, this time one of nervousness, was shared as Mugman pushed the tablecloth up to a sight that scared the living daylights out of him and Cuphead.

Five tots were piled on top of one another, pushing and muttering for someone to move, staring right back at the two. The biggest one of the group, being a mixture of a sailor boy with a clock for a head, gasped out loud.

“It _is_ them!”

“See? I told you!” The puffin was gloating.

“Wowie! I can’t believe…I can’t believe…!”

“Isn’t this something?”

“I’ll say!”

What was happening? How did the cups go from sneaking a spot of pudding for themselves to being ambushed by little kids? Were these nosy ankle biters going to tell on them?

“Whoa, whoa, hold it. Just who are you guys?” Cuphead demanded to know, pushing the bowl behind him.

“I’m Sammy!” Squawked the puffin. “And these are my pals, Nan and Cogsworth Jr.”—He pointed to a teacup and the sailor boy/clock respectively, then to a tubby black-and-white dog and cute curly haired girl—“and that’s Hines and Margie.”

“Oh, uh, nice to meet you,” Mugman said uncertainly, reaching out to shake hands. The kids stared at his glove like it was threaded in gold. “What’s the matter? I won’t bite.”

Sammy snatched the wrist and held it up high in between his wings, making Mugman yelp in alarm as he was forced from under the table. “Guys, guys, guys! This is one of the hands that walloped the Devil!”

Low _oohs_ harmonized with one another as the bird’s friends ogled at the appendage, gently poking it like a rare specimen. Cuphead was still confused, no more than Mugman, and shrugged when his bro shot him a baffled stare.

“Wait a sec, how do you guys know about that?” Cuphead asked, joining his brother to stand.

Hines happily wagged his tail. “We learn about you at the schoolhouse. We sing songs about you and everything!”

“I learned about you first,” little Margie bragged, shyly rocking back and forth on her shoes. “My Grandma Ann told me how you two were very brave for saving your friends and doing the right thing.”

“You’re sort of a big deal in all of Inkwell!” Sammy wrapped up, flapping his wings.

“Not sort of stupid, they _are_ a big deal,” Cogsworth Jr. corrected with a harsh bump to the head.

Little Nan couldn’t contain her excitement and jumped on Mugman first, then Cuphead in a tight hug. Looking up with her doe eyes and kind smile, she exclaimed, “You’re my heroes!”

Gratitude was such a tiny word, but that was exactly the emotion behind the cup brothers that was infinite. A pure humbleness bumbled in Mugman’s heart as he crouched down to the five, smiling at each of them and huddling them closer.

“Thank you guys. You’re awful nice, but at the end of the day, we’re still kids like you.”

“Yup, that’s right. Two ordinary brothers.” Cuphead brought Mugman in close. “Just me, Cuphead, and my pal Mugman who fought tooth and nail, armed to the teeth against the root of all evil, the mighty Devil himself. We had to pull out all the stops or we’d kiss our souls goodbye.”

Of course the desire of his big brother’s ego for any form of attention shined through, but Mugman didn’t mind too much. The dramatic retelling was certainly reeling the kiddies in, that was for sure. And by George, did they have a lot of questions.

“What’d you do after Isle Two?”

“Were you scared flying aeroplanes at night?”

“Did you die?”

“How many tries did it take to get Dr. Kahl to surrender?”

So many good and interesting things the cups never really got to explain, but they had a strong impulse to answer them with as much enthusiasm as their little admirers were throwing at them. As Cuphead led the story and Mugman joined in with a memory or two, other kids gradually trickled in twos and threes to sit down and listen. By the time the last plate had been placed and the adults were calling everyone to gather ‘round and eat, they did double takes to find all the sweet tooths bunched in a tight circle.

“And then there we were, one shaky platform left, with barely an inch of our own above the hellfire and tortured souls moaning and groaning for me and Mugs to join ’em. One wrong move and _bleugh!_” Cuphead retold, briefly popping his head off in time to him “slicing” near his lack of a neck.

The children gasped and demanded to know what happened next.

“Plain and simple − we put our heads and hearts together and gathered the strength of millions to teach that no good demon a lesson,” Mugman stated proudly, holding up his fist in triumph.

Cuphead clapped his back. “Right you are there Mugs! We knocked him clean off his throne and made him cry. I don’t think he’ll be bothering us for a long, _long_ time. And if he does”—The red and blue dish held up their glowing pointer fingers—“we’re ready for another red-hot match!”

The children and a few of the adults gave the brothers a round of applause to bashfully bow to. They were just now returning to reality from the hype of the story and finally noticing how much of an audience they had gathered. An amused chuckle flowed through the crowd, putting instant smiles on Cuphead and Mugman’s faces as they raced forward to hug their own personal hero.

Having overheard the comical and stylized rehash of that one eventful day, the Elder Kettle couldn’t help but smile and held his boys closer in the hug.

“There’ll be no need for that for a long, _long_ time boys.”


	24. April Rules Bring Many Fools {Cuphead}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 1st doesn’t come around fast enough, but when it does…good golly!

April Fools Day.

What a time to be around. Unless you were around Cuphead, of course. Then you needed to run for the hills and never look back. It wasn’t that the little cup’s pranks were brutal or explosive or anything on the foul side. In fact, they were quite the opposite − crafty, cunning, harmless, and all in good-natured fun.

Except on this April 1st, the itty bitty dish was definitely going to step it up a notch. Starting with the very first toon he interacted with every morning.

Mugman stirred awake with a bit of difficulty, rubbing his nose and then eventually his eyes that opened to a near pitch-black bedroom. He jolted up, gazing around in confusion before he rubbed his eyes again. Nothing changed; in fact, the room seemed to have gotten darker. Mugman hesitantly got out of bed just as Cuphead strolled into the shared room, fully dressed in his shorts and shirt.

“Finally awake sleepyhead?” He teased, tossing an apple in his hands.

“Cups, I think my eyes went all wonky. Why is everything so dark?”

“Well it does get dark at eight o’clock.”

“_Eight o’clock?!_”

“Yup.”

Mugman rushed over to one of the few windows in the bedroom and threw open the curtains. Sure enough, a black starless mass greeted him without hesitation.

_“It’s eight o’clock!_” He screeched in horror.

“Yup,” Cuphead repeated with a nonchalant bite of the apple.

“How could I…why would I…when did I−!” Mugman gripped his brother’s shoulders, shaking them hard. “I slept in ‘til eight o’clock and you didn’t think to wake me? S-something’s wrong with me… And oh, Elder Kettle’s going to have a fit! I missed school, slept through meals, and you didn’t think to…”

Cuphead couldn’t keep his laughter in, starting with snickers low in his throat that transformed into snorted guffaws. Mugman watched in disbelief, shakily curling his fists.

“It’s not funny!”

“It…It kind of is, bro!”

Still laughing and clutching his sides, Cuphead went to one of the windows and tore off the black construction paper he’d taped over each of them last night. Blinding hot morning light colored the room in the appropriate eight o’clock fashion.

“April Fools! I got you so good! You should’ve seen the look on your− _whoa!_”

Cuphead dodged a launched pillow just in time and had to bolt out of the room when Mugman grabbed for his own pillow to chase him with. Both boys barreled down the stairs, jumping over the furniture and knocking into tables and shouting for the other to “stop running” for different reasons. They didn’t hear Elder Kettle shouting their names until they brought the war into the kitchen, where the tanned pot was able to put an end to the early madness.

“What in the world are you boys doing running around like a bull in a china shop?” He demanded to know, holding the cup and mug by the handle.

Around his wincing, Mugman was able to glare and point. “Him! He thought it’d be funny tricking me into thinking I slept until it was nighttime. I thought something was wrong with me, Elder Kettle!”

“Alright, alright Mugman, calm down.” He slowly released his boys and turned to the red prankster. “Cuphead, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Cuphead shrugged. “I already said ‘April Fools.’” His handle was yanked in warning. “I’m sorry Mugman!”

The little mug huffed and looked away. “Apology half accepted.”

Elder Kettle shook his head and ushered for the pair to sit and eat, going back to his tea he’d abandoned. “Honestly boys, your energy boggles my mind. Where do you find the time for all these hijinks?”

The elderly pot took a seat as well when he finished spooning a spot of sugar in his beverage and raised the hot brew to his mouth, but no sooner did he take a sip than he spat it right back out. “My word!”

Cuphead’s snorts returned tenfold, and he slowly reached over to peel off the phony “Sugar” label to reveal it had been a thing of salt. He covered his mouth and shook in silent laughter, meeting annoyed eyes and dared to mutter out:

“April Fools?”

Needless to say, family did not receive a Get-Out-of-a-Prank free card if it was Cuphead they were talking about. It wouldn’t be fair to let so many ideas go to waste, though he’d have to fall back in the meantime if it meant avoiding punishment from Elder Kettle. Mugman’s cold shoulder he could take and apologize for, but risking outside time over another joke on their guardian or getting sent home with a note from the schoolhouse was not something the dish was willing to experiment with.

“Eureka! _Eur_eka!”

And speaking of experiments…

“Do you really need all this junk Doc? I mean, what’s the use of hoarding all of this if you’re not gonna use it?”

“That’s the love of good science, my boy. It makes you do crazy things you never intended to in your wildest dreams.”

Funny, Cuphead thought the balding purple-haired scientist had already reached his peak, but perhaps there were other levels of madness. Another business run had called Elder Kettle’s name come afternoon when the boys returned home from their lessons, needing him in Inkwell Isle Three once he was ready.

“Can we go with you? It’s been so long since we got to go there with you!” Mugman had begged.

“Yeah, please Elder Kettle? I’ll be good!” Cuphead had added.

The kettle couldn’t say no to those eyes, or pass up the (shaky) promise of good behavior from his eldest. So when homework had been taken care of, off the family had gone to the island’s bustling city life, splitting off for their respective activities − Elder Kettle with work, Mugman to the dock to see Cala, and Cuphead to just wander until something struck his fancy.

And the inordinately large head of Inkwell’s renowned man of science popping out of a scrap heap near the junkyard had done just that.

“Hey Dr. Kahl, has the thought ever struck you of getting an assistant?” Cuphead asked, fiddling with a cogwheel.

“Now wouldn’t that be a miracle in itself? I’d be seeking someone with the heart for science and the capacity to experiment bigger than life itself.” Dr. Kahl pat the cup on the head hard as he passed him. “You’re a swell kid, but you’re just not cut out for this field yet.”

Cuphead did a double take at the man’s back. “I wasn’t talking about me! I barely understand this stuff anyway. Besides,” he added quickly, his pride taking over, “if I was talking about myself, then you just lost your chance at the best partner.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah it’s so, and I’ve got _this_”—Cuphead produced a vial of a sharp pink liquid—“to prove it.”

When Dr. Kahl looked his way, a smooth gleam rippled across his eyes. “Fascinating.” He bundled over, hands going every which way sizing the bottle up and hovering around it as if he were afraid to touch it. “You conjured this up by yourself, Cuphead?”

“Uh huh.”

“What do you call it?”

The grin around Cuphead’s opened mouth slowly curved down. He started scratching his head, the mystery potion held tight in his moving hand. “Hm, well uh… Huh.” He tipped the bottle further, spilling the contents in his head. “What do I call it?”

Dr. Kahl watched with widening eyes as a soft foam-like substance started fizzing up the cup’s rim, taking the form of a side-parted swept style like it was hair.

Cuphead shrugged. “Oh well, guess it’s not important. Hey, does it feel stuffy in here to you?”

In one swift motion, the vial was held high in the air, the scientist’s crazy like a fox grin spreading from ear to ear as his glasses shined bright. “This…this is magnificent. An awe-inspiring discovery that will most definitely reshape history and put all those naysayers to shame. This…_hair growth tonic!_”

“Huh?” Part of the pink fuzz drooped down to Cuphead’s nose, making him jump. “Hot dog, you may be on to something! Maybe you should try it on yourself Doc. See what kind of funky ‘do it’ll give you.”

“Oh yes.” Dr. Kahl dumped a good portion on his head, spreading his arms out. “I can feel its pungency already. Its advancements may take a minute or two when dealing with human attributes, but I’ve no doubt this will lead to breakthrough after breakthrough! …Say, it’s a bit sticky now. Has it worked? What do I look like now?”

“Like a man who just dumped strawberry Cola over his head!”

Dr. Kahl went quiet for a moment. “Is that a pretense for something? Has it changed my natural color?”

“No Doc, no!” Cuphead swatted the pink foam away and fished out a bottle cap from his pocket. “This isn’t some magic potion. I just dumped strawberry Cola in an empty bottle while you were scavenging for parts. April Fools!”

Dr. Kahl stared long and hard and slowly took the vial of soda over to another part of his work station. Cuphead couldn’t see his expression, and for a second he felt sorry for the scientist if he’d really thought he could grow hair. But then his arms started spazzing a mile a minute, grabbing at different test tubes and flasks and pencils to jot things down.

“This effervescent liquid with such a reliant adhesive and artificial color… Incredible!”

Cuphead left the kooky scientist on cloud nine, smiling in the fresh air and light of the afternoon rather than the stuffiness of the dim lab. Taking the shortcut down to the waters allowed him to gawk at the new toys in the shops, and he hoped to one day be able to have enough for something for him and Mugman. Soon out of his daydream, he took notice of one of the city residents − by tripping over his tail, that is.

“Hey Werner, what gives?”

Half of the rodent’s upper body was wedged in the few bushes surrounding his small red house while his end wriggled, trying to regain balance. “Cuphead, is that you? Oh _mein Junge_, give me a hand, will you?”

“Are you looking for something?”

“My cigars. They have gone, fled the isles! Will you help me find them?”

Cuphead figured he could spare some time before meeting up with Mugman, but wondered how in the world cigars could vanish under the rat’s nose or roll all the way outside. He decided not to bug Werner about it and helped him search high and low for his belongings, soon spotting a small carved box with his initials wedged in a tree hole not too far from the city clock.

“I found ’em!” Cuphead called out, running up to Werner and opening the box to several bulky rolls of tobacco. “Here you are.”

Werner pat him gratefully on the head, taking one and a lighter out his pocket. “Ah, you are a good boy Cuphead. Thank you.” He lit the tip of the smoke up, but it didn’t ignite. Furrowing his brows, he tried again. Still nothing.

“Werner?” Cuphead rocked on the heels of his boots, grinning wide. “Think I could try one?”

The defunct smoke in Werner’s mouth nearly plopped to the ground. “_You_ trying one?”

“Yeah, they look nice. I’ve always wanted one. Maybe it’ll light for me.”

“Are you crazy in the head or something? Do you know what your kettle will do if he finds you with—”

There was already one in the cup’s mouth, and when Werner tried to take it, Cuphead bit down on it hard, snapping it in two. The rat’s cigar fell to the ground as his muzzle dropped in shock, spluttering out incoherent German.

Cuphead held up the broken ends of the stick. “Not bad. Needs more almonds.”

“_Almonds?_” Indeed, rather than being the harmful smoking stick, Cuphead had only bitten down on a roll of dark chocolate. Werner chuckled under his breath. “Almonds…”

“April Fools!” Cuphead exclaimed, rushing off in the high of the prank. (And before Werner came to the realization that all of his “cigars” had almonds in them.)

The afternoon continued on with only more pranks on the third isles and quick trips to the second − some stunts not to one’s taste, but there were a few who indulged in them with good spirit. After all, with a fellow like Cuphead, one must be prepared for any tricks. And brags.

“Then she lost her head and chased me out. So Mugs, lesson learned − never mess with a lady’s bonnet.”

“Never,” Mugman echoed distractedly, sitting beside his brother on the docks. He handed him a caramel apple over from the second isles and started licking his own. “You all tuckered out now from your tricks?”

“_Ha!_ No way! I’ve got hours to kill before dinner.”

“Come on Cups, you’ve gotten seven more people already. Won’t you give it a rest?”

Cuphead gave Mugman’s nose a few pokes. “You’re just mad I got you good this morning.”

“I am not!” Mugman denied too defensively, turning away.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Cuphead stuck out his tongue and took a big bite out of his snack, suddenly wishing he hadn’t. “Uh, Mugs?”

“Yeah?”

“Does this…” He swallowed with difficulty. “Does this apple taste weird to you?”

“No, why?”

“I dunno. Mine just tastes off. I don’t think I got a good apple.”

“Here.” Mugman swapped the treats. “You can have mine.”

“Thanks.” Yet another big bite was taken out of the snack, and the same taste fit uncomfortably in the cup’s mouth. He instantly spit it out. “_Bleugh!_ You had the worst one! It tastes like dirty socks. Did we get rotten apples? _Yuck!_ Ooh, wait ‘til we tell Elder Kettle about this, he’ll…”

Mugman was shaking in laughter above all the rambling and pointed at the foul-tasting treat with a shakier finger. Cuphead, baffled at first, slowly looked down to see the caramel coating was melting off, revealing the crummy surface of not the red fruit, but a red onion. He’d just taken two big bites out of a caramel _onion!_

“I did say I was gonna get you a red snack,” Mugman giggled, jumping back when his brother made a grab at him. “April Fools Cuphead!”

“_Why you−!_”

Well, if Cuphead hadn’t expected Mugman to get his own revenge with his own trick at some point, then perhaps he was the fool in April.


	25. Naughty Words {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are introduced to a couple of foul words, but they’re just words…right?

A game of kickball would have sounded like heaven to any child after a long day at the schoolhouse − and that’s exactly what Cuphead and Mugman were up to on that quiet Thursday afternoon.

Just a little ways north around isle one was a humble clearing where most of the bigger grades traveled after lessons to shoot bottle caps off soda bottles with their slingshots, or show off their bubblegum baseball cards. The cups had definitely caught a break when they hadn’t spotted them taking up space. It was too much of a beautiful day to waste.

“Alright Mugs, I’ve got eleven points,” Cuphead called out, aligning the ball in the middle of the grass. “If you can kick this all the way to…_that_ tree, you get the bonus points.”

“Can I get extra bonus points if I kick it by the lake?”

“Only if your boot doesn’t go flying like it did last time!”

Mugman laughed at the shared memory and got down on all fours to stretch out his legs. All his focus was on the ball and ball alone, and when he felt it in him to go for it, he made a mad dash forward and connected boot with rubber. With a resounding _whack!_ the red ball went soaring over the trees. Way over the original bet Cuphead had made.

Cuphead let out an impressed whistle and watched the blurry streak continue to fly until gravity claimed it. “Not bad,” he commented, patting Mugman on the back.

“Not light, either. I’m gonna run after it.”

Bonus points or not, what was the fun of kickball when your kicks worked against you? Mugman had no idea where that ball had gone off too. It wasn’t stuck in the trees, it wasn’t bobbing in the lake, and he knew he hadn’t kicked it too far to crash into a neighbor’s house. Or a neighbor.

Elder Kettle would have a fit about him and Cuphead playing too hard if someone complained.

With a sigh, the little mug was close to giving up and returning empty-handed, when the softest slew of banter blew along with the wind. He quickly followed it, stumbling across one of the few secluded fishing spots of Inkwell. Normally he and Cuphead would spot Miss Angel Fish (oddly) casting her rod out in the clear waters, enjoying a nice day for herself. Mugman hadn’t expected to see two strange Toons, a bluish-purple donkey and a bespectacled stork.

Each dressed like they were out for a trip to the countryside yet spoke with so much slang and a heavy southern accent that the child didn’t know which was weirder. Nevertheless, he did spot the ball beside the stork’s tackle box and instantly grinned, running over and waving.

“Well I’ll be! Look, a little sprout,” the stork laughed out, waving back.

“Hi there. I’m sorry to bother you both, but I think my ball may have joined you.”

“Shoot… Was wonderin’ where this thing just up an’ came from. Sonuva bitch scared the both of us mighty good, right Jacky-boy?”

The donkey made a noise in his throat, not looking up from where the bait on his hook was bobbing.

“Oh, you wallflower. Don’t mind him boy. He gets quiet when he wants you quiet. I’m Johnny.” The bird handed the ball over with a smile. “Care for some fishin’? We got a couple spare rods here.”

Mugman shook his head, both at the lengthy mile of words and in a polite decline. “Thanks mister, but no thank you. My brother and I were playing kickball back in the clearing, and I don’t want to leave him behind.”

“Ah, good lad. Well in case you change your mind, don’t be a stranger. We won’t be goin’ nowhere until three o’clock.”

“Make it three in the morning. Ain’t no fishes bitin’,” Jacky grumbled, clicking his bottom hooves together.

“‘Cause your breath’s scarin’ ’em away!” Johnny loudly teased.

“’Ey! Don’t be a jackass.”

“Oh shaddup, Sensitive Sally.”

Mugman’s quiet goodbye got lost in the fellas’ returning banter, so he dashed through the trees and shrubs with the ball held tight in his hands, soon finding Cuphead lounging on his back. A blade of grass was in between his teeth and being blown like it was a kazoo, but when the cup heard his brother coming, he sat up quick and spit the grass out his mouth.

“There you are! I thought you’d gotten lost or something.”

Mugman placed the ball down. “I met these two guys, Johnny and Jacky, fishing up there and we talked for a bit.”

“Are they our age?”

“No, but they’re awful nice. They invited me to fish with them, but I told them I couldn’t just leave you behind.”

Cuphead rolled the ball to where it had been earlier. “They do sound nice. Maybe you can introduce them to me.”

“Maybe.” Mugman sat against a stray log, watching Cuphead take his time in deciding where and how hard he should kick the ball. “Cuphead, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What’s a jackass?”

The red dish looked up and cocked his head to the side. “Where’d you hear that?”

“One of the guys I ran into, Jacky I think, called his friend that. He was teasing him left and right, and Jacky said, ‘Ey! Don’t be a jackass.’”

“Huh, I’ve never heard that one before.” After scratching a part of his rim, Cuphead shrugged. “Sounded to me like he was calling him a blabbermouth if his buddy wouldn’t quit making fun of him.”

“Maybe.” Mugman tapped his thumbs to the beat of his boots nervously thudding, his mind still spinning about what he had heard. He couldn’t help himself and winced a bit when he felt his mouth opening as Cuphead reeled his foot backwards. “Cuphead?”

He froze and glanced over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“Th-there was another word.” Cuphead’s head tilted to the other side as he picked up the ball and joined Mugman by the log, nodding for him to continue. “See, Jacky’s pal, Johnny, said something like ‘sonuva bitch’ about my ball. What’s that mean? I think it must’ve startled him when I kicked it all the way to the fishing spot.”

“Probably. I’d be scared too if kickballs started raining from the sky,” Cuphead chuckled out, attempting to bounce the ball on his knee. “I think I’d scream that word instead of ‘yikes’ and duck for cover if it was really bad.”

Mugman giggled in his hand. “He must’ve jumped out of his skin if he was being so vocal about it.”

“I’ll say. Anything else you heard?”

“Nope, that was it. I just think it’s weird we haven’t heard those words before.”

“Those guys were probably from somewhere off the island.”

“They did have accents and dressed funny,” Mugman suddenly remembered. “And they were really loud, too. You could hear them miles away.”

“Tourists,” Cuphead brushed off with a shrug. “C’mon, let’s head home. I’ll bet Elder Kettle’s making lunch.”

Off the cup and mug raced, over small bridges and past their smiling and working neighbors. They had to resist the urge to stick around when the little kiddies spotted them and wanted to play, or when the bright and brilliant colors from the public flower beds were too tempting to ignore. (But at some point the boys decided, _what the_ _heck_, and plucked a beautiful tea rose for Elder Kettle.)

They weren’t sure if the flower had put him in an extra good mood or not, but if they were lucky enough to be served spiced beef sandwiches on white bread and poppyseed rolls for dessert, heck − they needed to start scouring isle one for more tea roses!

The day pleasantly stretched on, with Elder Kettle relaxing in his rocking chair, the gentle hums from the phonograph almost lulling him into a nap, and Cuphead and Mugman on their stomachs not too far from the couch, letting their food settle with a quiet a game of chess.

Well, it was quiet for about five minutes.

“Checkmate!” Mugman cheered, fists pumped above his head in victory.

His eyes still closed, Elder Kettle chuckled. “Very good, Mugman.”

Cuphead, however, wasn’t on the congratulating side and crossed his arms in a huff. “No way, you duped me.”

“Don’t be sore that it’s my third win.” Mugman stuck out his tongue, getting Cuphead to gently shove him.

“There’s no way. Elder Kettle, he got in my mind and made me move wrong.”

One of the kettle’s eyes opened. “Now Cuphead, there’s no need for poor sportsmanship. If chess isn’t your strong point now, there’s always room for practice.”

“He can practice, and I’ll take the win,” Mugman teased, his tongue reappearing.

“Mugman, an overconfident winner is equally worse. You boys behave now.”

Cuphead was tossing one of the rooks in his gloves while Elder Kettle spoke, and he smirked when Mugman’s back was turned and chucked the piece at his handle.

“Yeah Mugs, don’t be a jackass!” He joked.

Mugman nearly jumped three feet in the air from the playing piece bouncing off his head and whirled around, chucking his queen right back. “Sonuva bitch, you scared me silly!” He exclaimed in good cheer.

Now Elder Kettle knew children were extremely impressionable, especially around adults and whatever it was that they read in those ‘snazzy’ comic books or in the Funnies section of the newspaper. Children, he thought, at at least an age no older than seven. He presumed his boys had successfully dodged that stage where they couldn’t be blamed for echoing some questionable content, but after hearing what they’d just laughed about, his paternal instincts were kicking in.

“Cuphead, Mugman,” he began as calmly as he could muster, getting their heads to turn and their smiles to gradually flip. He was wide awake now. “What did you just say?”

Nervous pie-shaped eyes flicked to the other, cold air and the fear of a punishment rushing through their glassware instead of the warmth and joy they’d used up moments ago.

Cuphead started scratching at his wrist. “I said, ‘yeah Mugs, don’t be such a…’”

Elder Kettle’s hand shot up. “No, no, I didn’t phrase that properly. Please don’t repeat it. What I meant to ask was where you two heard those words.”

Cuphead’s eyes immediately shot over to his brother, getting the blue dish to visibly start shaking as his guardian’s eyes followed. Now this was out of left field; sure, both could cause buckets of trouble when their minds worked together, but his youngest deliberately responsible for profanity?

“Mugman?” Elder Kettle asked.

“I-I heard it from someone else! These fellows, J-Johnny and Jacky were fishing, and Cuphead and I were playing kickball, a-and I kicked the ball too hard and it went over to them, and they were awful nice to me and we were just talking, and Jacky called Johnny a jackass and−!”

The kettle’s hand raised again, a second too slow. He really didn’t want to hear cussing out of those tiny mouths if he could help it. At least not around him, and at least not until they were several years older. Then again, he couldn’t scold too harshly, for he knew if he made a big deal out of swearing, sooner or later it would entice the kids to want to try it again behind his back.

And swearing, much like gambling, drinking and smoking, was a nasty habit to break.

“Mugman, what you heard from those two gentleman wasn’t very nice of them to say,” Elder Kettle explained as best as he could. “Words like that could hurt someone’s feelings or offend them. Or they could make you sound, well, not very bright if you ask me. Do you two want that for yourselves?”

Cuphead and Mugman glanced at one another, their expressions differing in the amount of guilt they felt, but they eventually turned back to their caretaker and shook their heads.

“Let’s not use those words again, understand?” Two nods. “Good boys. Come now, don’t look so down. What say we go to the market later today?”

This got a more enthusiastic set of nods, and in ten minutes the little incident was stale in the air. After fifteen minutes, it was still in the back of the family’s minds on their way to the market, yet within half an hour, the situation collapsed in on itself and was forgotten when all that mattered was finding the best produce and Elder Kettle seeing how long Cuphead and Mugman could behave before they were rewarded with something sweet.

They had been close, but the sight of a rare butterfly far off their path home took the cake for ending their good streak of the day. But again, Elder Kettle couldn’t scold kids for being kids, and he allowed them a spot of cream tea with honey and milk after dinner.

A drink that was supposed to relax the mind and soothe one to sleep only did the opposite for Cuphead, and he knew why he was suddenly wide awake just ten minutes after he and Mugman had snuggled under the covers. Those words…those apparently naughty words. They couldn’t be that bad, right? Sure, Elder Kettle did say they could offend or hurt someone’s feelings.

_Well so would calling someone a boob or a lame-brain!_ Cuphead’s conscience countered, making him giggle to himself.

Honestly, kids of all ages called each other names, and only the super sensitive ones ran home tattling and crying while the older ones laughed it off and retaliated with something better. Cuphead was no sensitive sissy, and the more he thought about those two words, the longer his eyes stayed open, the faster the clock ticked, and the higher the sun rose.

Oh crud, he’d only gotten three hours of sleep and school started in 20 minutes. Was it worth it? Maybe he could fake sick. Mugman could always bring him the homework, and if he had a test, the teacher would excuse it. But then Elder Kettle would check his temperature, and how could Cuphead fib his way through that?

So he had to suck it up, speed through breakfast, and keep his eyes open on the long walk to the big red schoolhouse. Boy, would he regret not attempting to fake a cough or sneeze.

Ten o’clock arithmetic was Cuphead’s weakest suit. He just couldn’t get it right in his mind how to jumble through all those stupid numbers and symbols. He would much rather prefer reading out loud in front of the class or sulking through boring Inkwell History than adding and subtracting fractions. Cuphead felt himself nodding off, something Mugman often chastised him for, and that’s exactly when disaster struck − and oh, how he wished the teacher had shouted at him to wake up rather than the harsh bump of a body on his desk doing it for him.

“What the hell!”

All eyes were on the cup from his outburst, and for a moment he didn’t realize where he was until his teacher, Miss Lucy the Lamb with a face redder than her polka-dot dress, went up to his desk.

“Cuphead, what did you just say?” He said nothing. “Cuphead, I asked you a question. What did you just say?”

Cuphead’s eyes happened to glance a little behind Miss Lucy, noticing one of his classmates beside her desk, and pointed an accusatory finger. “He startled me! I couldn’t help but yell out. Besides, I could’ve said something worse, Miss Lucy.”

“I don’t think any word is worse than the one you’ve just used, young man.”

“Is so. I could’ve screamed ‘sonuva bitch’ for how badly he startled me, but I didn’t because I’m not supposed to.”

The rest of the children continued to stare, and poor Mugman’s face was beginning to glow in secondhand embarrassment. He knew what was coming, and thought, _why, oh why can’t you ever keep your big mouth shut, Cuphead?_

The ruler was pulled out with breakneck speed, and Cuphead was yanked to his feet quicker than that. Eight swats to his gloved hand were smacked, for Miss Lucy had misinterpreted her student’s honest explanation as a smart mouth.

“I will not tolerate swearing in my classroom. You’ll see me after class and tell me where you heard such language.”

Mugman shook his head, nudged Cuphead’s foot as the two shared a glare, and whispered something that shocked even his older brother: “Look what you’ve done jackass.”

Eight swats to the mug’s hand strictly reminded him that that word was _not_ a substitute for blabbermouth. A chunk out of their recess and an additional hour of reading was an even stricter reminder that acting out in class was no joke. But a bar of soap in between the teeth was by far the strictest reminder that the boys weren’t even supposed to be using such language at their age to begin with.

Of course a note had been sent home, of course Elder Kettle had to sign it so Miss Lucy could see that he’d read it, and of _course_ a punishment was in order for his potty-mouthed boys.

“Now you two will stay there until I come and get you,” the kettle scolded, looking from a cross Cuphead to a weary-faced Mugman, each one’s mouth stretched open with a white bar. “Hopefully this will wash those rancid words from your vocabulary, yes?”

They didn’t need to, but Cuphead and Mugman gave a slow nod of agreement. Words like that not only got you in trouble at school, offended a friend, or hurt someone’s feelings; it left you with a bad taste in your mouth.

Literally.


	26. “C” You Later {Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When report cards come out, Mugman doesn’t know how to explain his efforts to Elder Kettle.

Mugman thought he was a good boy.

He did his chores around the house when asked to and didn’t complain. He never goofed off in class and raised his hand whenever Miss Lucy called for volunteers. And, while he could be a bit more influenced into misbehaving around Cuphead, he never really had thoughts of pulling pranks around the isles or swiping a cookie before dinner.

He was a good boy. Well, he _thought_ he was a good boy.

When Miss Lucy had pulled him aside before recess that Friday afternoon to ask for his help finding a misplaced reading assignment, Mugman had thought nothing of it and was more than happy to look with her. She worked hard, and she was a good teacher. Even good teachers got mixed up. The two hadn’t looked for very long, but not because they had found the paper in record time and Mugman was free to head out and play.

Miss Lucy had taken a different piece of paper out of her drawers.

**Arithmetic**: C-  
**Art**: B  
**Inkwell Isle History**: C+  
**Language Arts**: C  
**Music**: B+  
**Reading**: D  
**Science**: B-

Mugman’s report card.

He thought it was a joke. A mighty cruel, very unfunny joke Miss Lucy was trying to pull.

His face went through plentiful emotions in a matter of seven seconds. He rubbed his eyes hard enough to see stars, and when the bright red ink didn’t change, he squirmed in place, wringing his shirt inside-out. Aside from his grades, he didn’t look at anything else in the room, just Miss Lucy. Then, as slow as molasses, he sulked over to his desk and sat, his gloves refusing to leave his face.

Missy Lucy pulled out a handkerchief and rushed over to her student, crouching down to his height and gently bringing him to her side. Mugman kept still.

“Oh honey… Mugman, will you look up at me?” He didn’t want to, but he also didn’t want to disobey his teacher. “There we go. Look at those bright eyes. Oh no, they’re missing a smile. Can you find it for me?”

Again, he didn’t want to disobey his teacher, but what was there to smile about when his report card looked like a thousand crescent moons stamped all over? _C, C, C…_ Now really!

“Miss Lucy…” Mugman could barely find his voice, he was so stunned. “Am I dumb?”

“Mugman! I’m surprised at you!”

“But I got a D in reading, and I love to read. Do I not read good enough?”

“Well enough.” Miss Lucy flushed at the sight of Mugman’s discouraged face. “Sorry dear, force of habit. Now look honey, it’s my job to make sure my students do what they love and love what they do. I want to teach them new things, but I also want them to expand on what they already know. Just because you stumbled on, say, your reading assignments does not mean you’re dumb.”

_I didn’t stumble, I fell face-first._

“But I always do my best! I love your class, Miss Lucy.”

“I know, and I see your efforts. You’re not being punished Mugman. This is actually a good thing, believe it or not, because it tells me what I need to work on so all of my students can understand my lessons better. You’re helping me, too.”

“By failing?”

The words were out of Mugman’s mouth faster than a balloon popping, and at Miss Lucy’s sunken face, he wished he could take it back. He turned to the window to avoid her eyes, watching the other children laugh and play from the corner of the playground. How could they be so happy when he felt so sad? Part of him wanted them to feel his pain too so he wouldn’t be so lonely with it, but part of him was glad they couldn’t and weren’t in the room as this was happening.

Mugman’s eyes suddenly swam with tears, and he hurried to scrub them from his face. He knew tears would lead to sympathy, and sympathy would lead to more tears. Miss Lucy held out the untouched handkerchief, and he hesitantly took it to blow his nose.

“Mugman,” she began quietly, rubbing his shoulder, “you are not dumb. I don’t ever want to hear those words from any student of mine. _Ever._ Now, do you think you could show this to your caretaker, have him look over my notes, and bring it back signed on Monday?”

_Elder Kettle is going to kill me._ “Yes, Miss Lucy.”

Mugman’s eyes shifted to the side again and became glossy when Miss Lucy returned to her desk. He bit his lip in an attempt to hide any sound that wanted to escape his mouth, and had to work up a lot of courage to ask if he could stay inside for recess.

He regretted asking in the first place, desperately wanting to take it back when Miss Lucy approved. He was bored out of his mind reading for 20 minutes when it felt like twenty days and nights had come and gone in the empty classroom; he was bored out of his mind sitting through more Inkwell Isle History that he apparently only had average knowledge about; and by the time the bell rang, he was burned out from barely moving, barely participating, and barely even blinking.

Finally outside, Mugman kicked a pebble along the grass with the side of his boot, shoulders slumped and mouth set in a semi-pout. Both features jumped up in surprise at an abrupt weight half tugging, half pushing him to the ground.

“Cuphead!”

“Come on slowpoke, you’re falling behind!”

Mugman stifled a small laugh and accepted his brother’s proffered hand, joining him in racing down the hill and back to their neck of the woods. He really wasn’t in the mood to play, but he figured the distraction would do his mind some good − anything to get him further away from the nuisance in his pocket following him all the way home. He almost stumbled when he thought of how he could explain his poor performance in school to Elder Kettle.

If he said he was trying his best, that might have sounded like he was making up excuses.

If he said he didn’t know what he was doing wrong, that might have sounded like he was lazy.

Mugman sighed and shook his head just as a tanned roof and smoking chimney rose above the overgrowth of trees. No, he had to tell Elder Kettle something, anything. _He slipped up and needed longer help with Miss Lucy._ That sounded about right.

“Elder Kettle, we’re home!”

Mugman winced at the shrill pitch of Cuphead’s voice. Sure he was loud and chipper on a regular basis, but today he seemed louder and more chipper than usual.

“In the kitchen boys!”

The two followed the kettle’s voice, giving him a hug hello when he took a small break from the lunch he was preparing.

“Where’s all of this energy coming from?” He chuckled out, more towards Cuphead. “I take it you boys had an extra special day of school? Or is it because it’s the weekend?”

“Nope. This!”

Mugman did a double take when Cuphead pulled something out of his pocket and held it out with both hands, grinning like he had the key to the candy shop. The puzzlement on Elder Kettle’s face gradually turned to pure satisfaction, and from the way he was holding that familiar dark parchment, Mugman could see the first three lines of his brother’s report card.

**Arithmetic**: B+  
**Art**: A  
**Inkwell Isle History**: B

That would explain Cuphead’s hyperactive babbling and shaking, and his permanent grin all the way home. Come to think of it, he had been all grins just before running off for recess. Had that been when Miss Lucy had passed out everyone’s report cards?

Everyone but Mugman’s, that is, because according to his own, he was…

“Wonderful!”

Mugman jumped out of his self-beatdown and looked to see Cuphead and Elder Kettle exchanging a second hug, this one a little tighter and more passionate than the first. The report card was still being held, but now Mugman could see the entirety of Cuphead’s knowledge reflecting from the grades.

**Arithmetic**: B+  
**Art**: A  
**Inkwell Isle History**: B  
**Language Arts**: B  
**Music**: A+  
**Reading**: B  
**Science**: B+

It even had a gold star on the front! Mugman knew those were usually reserved for Student of the Week or when someone aced a difficult test with flying colors. He couldn’t remember a time when he, or any of the kids for that matter, had had the delight of smiling down at the shiny sticker telling them what they already knew:

_Good Job! Way to Go! You’re #1!_

It wasn’t that he didn’t think Cuphead could do a good job in school whenever he wasn’t goofing off. But boy did it sting to see his older brother outshining him when sometimes he didn’t care to pay attention to Miss Lucy’s lessons as much, or really just wanted to “skip to the good stuff”, like painting or playing the violin during music time.

No, Mugman was happy for Cuphead. Really happy of his A/B achievements. He was proud of him for studying more, excited for him that he wasn’t messing around, jealous and angry at him for getting better grades than him when he was a goofball during lectures and hardly even—

“…did my best!”

Again, Mugman was startled back into the present to see Cuphead rocking on his boots, hands clasped behind him.

Elder Kettle smiled like any proud guardian would. “I see that. Your teacher noticed your improving, especially with division.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know math has been a struggle for you, but I am very proud, Cuphead. Keep up the good work, promise?”

“Well, I dunno. I’m not gonna be some Grade-A goober like Mugs forever.” He nudged his side a little too hard. “Bet he upstaged me again.”

Mugman blinked hard. He was starting to get a stomachache at the sudden attention shift.

Cuphead snorted at the silence and did some kind of give-it-here gesture. “C’mon buddy, I know you’ve got it.”

There was absolutely no way in Inkwell Isle − or in Inkwell _Hell_, for that matter − that he was going to receive a pat on the head, a hug, or ecstatic smile for his three C/three B/spectacular D show. He would receive a pat all right, a pat right on the keister if Elder Kettle was upset enough. He had never really had an excuse to spank Cuphead or Mugman, no matter the amount of trouble they caused and got into together.

Mugman was grateful for that, and he knew his caretaker was, too. He didn’t know how the latter would react if he had to use his cane for something other than walking. But the longer he remained silent, the more he was willing to take a smack to the rump or two. He didn’t think he deserved a talking to.

His lower lip quivered as words slowly made their way out. “I… At first Miss Lucy couldn’t… S-she said I wasn’t…” The unwanted reminder that he hadn’t done his best shakily left his pocket and smooshed into Elder Kettle’s hand.

Mugman forced his eyes to stay on the report card. That way when he got yelled at, he could focus on something just as bad to prevent him from screaming. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut when he felt a gloved hand land on his shoulder, but it wasn’t one about to turn him around and lash out on his sorry hind. Yet, anyway.

“Cuphead, could you give me a minute with Mugman?”

Not saying anything but casting a worried and sorry look his brother’s way, the cup left for their room. Mugman, eyes still closed, heard Elder Kettle sigh and make his way over to the table. When he heard the slight creak of one of the chairs and a soft ‘come here Mugman’, he wasted no time hurrying over and laying himself across the elder’s lap.

Elder Kettle narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Aren’t you gonna spank me for doing so badly? I deserve it.”

The kettle was taken aback by this kind of insistence. He knew he was old-fashioned but grew iffy striking his younger boys if they so much as thought of back-sassing him. Positioning his cane against the table, he placed Mugman in his lap and shook his head.

“No Mugman, you’re not going to be punished like that. I’m not upset with you.”

_I know, you’re furious with me._ “But I got a—”

“I know. I saw, but I also saw your teacher’s notes. Despite these grades, she still believes you’re a bright and wonderful boy. She’s more upset with herself that she hadn’t seen you were struggling so much, especially with reading. What’s going on with that?”

“I…I dunno.” Mugman gazed down at his lap, squirming in place. “I love to read, it’s just… I take longer reading sometimes. It’s not my fault. I like to take my time and…”

“Mugman.” He winced again at the sound of his name, and his mug was gently turned so he could look Elder Kettle in the eye. “Be honest with me. Do you have trouble reading?”

Mugman felt himself shying away from the innocent question as if it were a personal attack on his character. But he had to think, really think. Did he have trouble reading? Growing up, he always spent more time around even the simplest of comics and fairytales, but his mannerisms had seemed to convince Elder Kettle and Cuphead that he was a natural-born bookworm and loved looking at the pages.

Sure he struggled every once in a while when a big word popped up, and maybe he couldn’t recognize some letters or numbers as quickly as he would like to. Oh crud, that would explain his troubles with time tables and the funny feeling he got in his stomach around bigger dates in Inkwell History. And come to think of it, the arrows around the water cycle confused him enough to make him mad, and he wasn’t so hot in reading too many music notes. But would he start hurting in art? Spelling?

A single tear slid down from Mugman’s hard eyes, followed by another and another, until a steady stream of salty tears flowed its way down his porcelain cheeks and he was a hiccuping mess. His head nodded at Elder Kettle’s question, and he hugged him tight like he had with Cuphead.

“_Shh, shh_. It’s all right, I’m right here.” Those familiar words soothed him back to toddler days. Whenever he or Cuphead got hurt or felt scared, Elder Kettle would take them in his arms, rock them back and forth, and reassure the two that he was there for his boys.

This was no different. The old kettle would especially stand by Mugman during troubling times. His education was just as important as his safety and happiness, and he was glad he was able to nip the issue in the bud.

“We will get this straightened out Mugman,” he promised softly as he rocked his child and soothed his cries to mere sniffles. “My word won’t fail for you.”


	27. Punishment Beyond Words {Cuphead}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuphead can’t help misbehaving. He’s a kid for crying out loud! But this time, he might have pushed his luck just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good golly, 50 Kudos and 1,200+ Hits?! Thank you all so much! ❤️ 💙

After so many days of Inkwell Isle drizzle, some sun was in order. The first kiss of warmth ghosted mostly over the first isles, with dragonflies dipping and dancing in pairs by the sweetgrass, and songbirds and frogs sharing a duet across the waters, their chorus waking others from their long overdue winter dreams.

The peace was soon shattered by a child, running and screaming with delight. He whooped into the mild air, his red jacket one shade too bright for the eye. Heads turned, a dog barked, ducks skittered further into the pond.

Perhaps a few seasons ago, Cuphead would have hesitated at the idea of running so hard and fast with his usual caution thrown to the wind, but now with the weather clearing and Mugman at his side, he relished in the feeling of being outside again.

And golly, what a day it was!

The two dishes raced along the isles, boots pounding the ground faster than the excitement drumming in their glassware as they giggled to one another. The flattened and ruffled grass mingled with the brighter hue of moss clinging on the trees further off in the woodlands, hunkering down to give a low profile to the warm breeze. Flowers with petals that looked painted on were just beginning to sprout near Elder Kettle’s windows, nothing too bright, big or bold.

But the soft babbling of the famous stream that ran by their house took the cake. It was pure as crystal and flowed along from the forest to the base of the cottage, twinkling a gay little tune for the cup brothers as they raced one another all the way home and stopped to catch their breath by the bank.

Thoughts of crossing it by swimming occurred to Cuphead, even though Elder Kettle had warned both him and Mugman to do the exact opposite. It wasn’t severely deep, but neither three knew where it led to once it passed their woodland backyard. Cuphead often argued that that was just an excuse for an adventure, and the old kettle retaliated that that was just an excuse for a punishment.

Cuphead took in his reflection, making faces in the water. “Think there’s any frogs in there?”

Mugman joined his side and shrugged. “I doubt it.”

“Well we can’t go on a doubt forever. Go and get the nets from our room! We’ll start our hunt now.”

“You sure Elder Kettle won’t mind? It’s probably lunchtime by now, and he’d want us to—”

“Mugs, I’ll bet you ten cents he left the phonograph on again and he’s snoozing by the window. Come on,” Cuphead added with a rough pat to his brother’s shoulders. “We can burn more daylight while he’s resting his eyes, then we’ll go in for lunch whenever he calls us. Or whoever’s found the biggest frog first.”

Mugman’s usual hesitation sprung on his face, but it was only temporary as he considered the idea and nodded.

“Okay. I’ll get some jars, too.” He waved over his shoulder as he dashed into the house. “Hop to it!”

Cuphead scoffed at the pun but nevertheless began a search for any slimy amphibians. He found a couple sunbathing on some rocks at one point, yet they did not enjoy being disturbed and made him work up a sweat that sent him back to where he had started. He thought he saw a pretty fat one up in the trees, but he wasn’t going to risk falling if it jumped, or worse − if Elder Kettle woke up from his nap only to spot him twelve feet off the ground through the window.

“Got’cha!” Cuphead pounced on a runaway four-legger and scooped it up. “Now where’s the rest of your buddies?”

It simply croaked back, getting Cuphead’s initial jolly laugh to cut into a startled yelp when the frog swatted out its long tongue and escaped. Once again the little dish gave chase but had to skid to a stop when the frog expertly criss-crossed over the stream’s protruding rocks to get to the other side. Almost like it was curious as to why its captor wasn’t giving much effort anymore, the green animal turned, gave a questioning ribbit, and hopped into the neighboring forest.

Cuphead continued staring across the fast-moving body of water with a frown. He didn’t acknowledge Mugman when he finally returned, and he didn’t react to him nudging his arm and saying he could only find one jar.

“Cups?” Mugman circled around to face him. “Cuphead? What’s the matter?”

He waved a hand to dismiss the worry. “Nah, it’s fine. Stupid frog got away.”

“Oh, well that’s okay. I’ve got our nets here, too, so I’m sure we can find some real nice ones down by… Why are you taking off your boots?”

“I wanna see something.”

Cuphead kept his eyes on the rocky pathway the frog had taken, and after he’d lowered both boots to the ground, slowly extended a foot out. The rocks were slick and icy to the touch, so much so that Cuphead swore he felt his glass protesting at the sudden temperature drop. He ignored it and extended his leg a little further, managing to stand in the middle of the active stream.

All while he was doing this, Mugman could only watch with astonished eyes. He wanted to pull him back, but he’d risk him slipping and getting hurt. Or worse.

“You know Elder Kettle doesn’t want us playing around here,” he instead said in a low murmur to hide his shakiness. “It’s dangerous.”

“What’s there to be scared of? It’s just water,” Cuphead retorted, balancing out his arms and skipping to another rock.

“We could slip.”

“So we’ll be careful.”

“We could catch cold.”

“We’ve got scarves in the closet.”

“We could… We could…”

Cuphead rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder. “Mugman, don’t be such a sippy cup. It’s _water_, and water can’t hurt you.”

A sudden miniature wave from behind smacked the cuffs of Cuphead’s shorts, getting a squeal to fly out his mouth. He laughed at the surprise and crouched down on the high rock he was perched on.

“Try again, bub,” he teased at the water with an added raspberry.

“Cuphead.” Mugman was reaching out, waving his hand. “L-let’s look for frogs somewhere else.”

“Hold your horses. Gee, the water’s so clear. Wonder why Elder Kettle’s so weird about us not playing in it.”

“Cuphead, come on. There, uh, look! There’s another frog! Go catch it, will you?”

“In a minute. Cool off Mugs, will you?” Cuphead splashed him and turned to gaze out at the rest of the trees. “Beautiful, isn’t it? That’s what I don’t understand about Elder Kettle. He tells us to appreciate nature and be kind to it, but we can’t do that if we can’t wade in some silly little stream, can we?” He started snickering and hopped to another rock. “I think his mind’s as old as that phonograph; it’s always starting and stopping.”

He lost himself in a fitful of snorts when a shadow suddenly stretched over him. He did a double take and slowly glanced back down at the water, grimacing.

“Cuphead! What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

“Um, checking the temperature for the frogs?” Elder Kettle started tapping his foot. “No? Uh, giving the fish a wakeup call from hibernation?” Five of them appeared to swim upstream, two of them jumping past the rock Cuphead was on and inadvertently smacking his nose. “You’re welcome!” He called after them.

The kettle shook his head. “Enough of the tomfoolery. Get off that rock and come inside.”

“But Elder Kettle, Mugman and I were—”

“_I_ wasn’t trying to cross the stream!” The blue mug interrupted, throwing him a don’t-you-dare-drag-me-into-this scowl.

“I wasn’t going to say we were,” the cup shot back, also scowling. “But I should have. Blabbermouth.”

“Scatterbrain.”

“Sippy cup!”

“Careless cup!”

“So help me you two, don’t make me have to shout.” The pair quieted at the warning. “Cuphead, I won’t ask again.”

It just wasn’t fair! What good was it living by a stream and the woods and so many clear spaces for play if you couldn’t use them? It was a thing of water, no more, no less. Perhaps if it had been the ocean or maybe a waterfall, then Cuphead could see Elder Kettle making a fuss about him and Mugman steering clear of the area.

But a stream? With tiny fish, harmless frogs, and rocks? The rocks were no bigger than his head!

“Cuphead, I said—”

“No.”

There was a defiant note in his voice, and both Elder Kettle and Mugman looked at him in surprise. Mugman physically shrunk back when he noticed his caretaker’s hand slowly gripping his cane a little tighter.

“I beg your pardon?”

“There’s nothing to be scared of. Look.” Cuphead leapt up two more spaces, arms akimbo and grin wide. “See? I’m okay!”

He knew he was going to get one hell of a scolding, but in that moment he just couldn’t go against such deeply rooted adrenaline and rebellion. It didn’t always feel good going against the kettle’s orders, though the pay off − whenever he didn’t get caught, that was − was always golden and tasted sweet. The further Cuphead jumped from rock to rock, the lovelier the scenery around him grew. Fallen leaves had become tiny boats, moss and lichen gently hung in the air along with the other natural outdoor smells, and the rushing torrents in the water rivaled any other speedy pace.

Wait. _Torrents?_

Cuphead had underestimated how far he could go. Already he had hopped a good seven feet away from Elder Kettle and Mugman, and when he heard their distant calls, the golden feeling rusted and the sweet taste soured in his mouth. He was quite literally up the creek (well, stream) without a paddle.

He was relieved he was far enough so Elder Kettle couldn’t hear him curse, but it didn’t help the apprehension bubbling in his chest. The stream looked like it was gaining energy, and half of the path he had taken was submerged by the water. Wherever he was, he had one of two options:

Try and hop back on whatever rocks he could find, or continue north to find land and circle the woods back home.

Either choice would result in getting a severe earful from a steaming kettle, but Cuphead was willing to take the sacrifice. So he kept forward, searching for any dry patches. The typical hype from a new adventure wasn’t sitting in his heart this time. He had gotten caught, worried Mugman, and made Elder Kettle upset.

No adventure was worth that.

“Cuphead!”

Had he heard right? Someone was calling him?

“Cuphead!”

It couldn’t be. “Mugman…?”

“_Cup−!_”

Worry about his consequences switched to terror. Cuphead didn’t want to believe that Mugman − his cautious, careful, worrier of a brother − had actually gone after him.

“Cups!”

He was getting closer, and a quick look over the shoulder proved that yes, Mugman had jumped on the rocks and was actively pursuing his relentlessly zealous older brother. What was he thinking? He had gone batty. He’d flipped his lid!

_He’d just gone under._

“I’m comin’ Mugs, hang tight!”

And yet he was braver than him.

Cuphead didn’t swim so much as almost drown slowly. Every few strokes he was swallowing the water and within seconds he was fully submerged. His clawing back to the surface was so dramatic that if there was a lifeguard, they would probably appear next to him and drag him out. Water flew and his stomach stung, then with flailing splashy strokes he made progress down.

When he thought he felt a gloved hand clumsily clasp into his own, something strong at yanked Cuphead that got him screaming underwater. Spots of light and dizzying dots reflected in tiny fragments of color at the corners of his eyes, and he badly wanted to throw up.

His eyes fell upon his savior. “G-Goopy?”

The slime, Cuphead would come to find out, had been nearby and heard the commotion on his way home. He’d bounced on the scene just in time to see Mugman slip, and mistaking Cuphead’s bravery for a nasty fall, he’d sprung into action. It was ten past three when Goopy politely dismissed the fortieth or so thank-you from Elder Kettle and swore, “if anyone were ever in a jam, just yell and ole Goopy Le Grande will come bouncin’”.

It was a little after 3:30 when Mugman could officially concentrate with a full consciousness of what happened. He was the one who’d had quite the nasty fall and was the unfortunate owner of a crescent-shaped crack along his rim. He wasn’t up for talking, and that was perfectly fine with Elder Kettle.

The blabbermouth of the family, sporting some minor cuts and scratches, _was_ fully conscious and _was_ going to be giving a full explanation.

“I am grateful this happened in the daylight.”

Cuphead blinked and dared to sneak a peek as his arm was being nursed back to its original smooth condition. He hadn’t expected that to be the first out of his caretaker’s mouth.

“We could see the situation fully, and if this had happened at night, I would have had to take you back outside. I don’t think I could keep my voice down and wouldn’t want to wake Mugman.”

He stood corrected. That was to be expected.

“Elder Kettle, I—”

“I’m not through yet.” Cuphead couldn’t tell which was worse − the kettle’s chillingly calm tone or the fact that he was just getting started. “Right now, I’m not going to strain my voice. I don’t deserve that, and you don’t either, right?”

“Um, well…” Cuphead swallowed hard. “I did act like a real brat out there. I disobeyed you, and I didn’t listen. I-I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.”

Elder Kettle held his gaze. “What are you sorry for?”

Cuphead fought hard not to look down. “F-for not listening to you.”

“Oh? Is that all?” He nodded. “You’re not sorry for crossing the stream even when I’ve told you and Mugman not to play there? You’re not sorry for worrying Mugman so much that he went against my orders and jumped after you? How about Goopy? He saw everything that happened, and he was just passing by and didn’t know what to think of it.”

Cuphead nodded vigorously to each word. “I’m sorry for all of that too, really!” He exclaimed. “I wasn’t thinking. I was being stupid. I-I just wanted to show you that there was nothing to be afraid of. The stream, it’s…”

“Let’s not talk about this incident anymore. Let this be a lesson to you, Cuphead, of what happens when you don’t listen.” The little dish nodded awkwardly and slid off the couch, turning for the stairs. “I didn’t say we were through.”

Cuphead winced and swallowed again. “We’re not?”

Without another word Elder Kettle led him to the kitchen, the clicking of his cane painfully echoing around the child’s cup-shaped head. The six second walk seemed like six years to poor Cuphead as the kettle led him to a corner and pointed.

“Turn and face the wall.”

“Elder Kettle…” Cuphead’s eyes instinctively went to his cane, and when he noticed the iron grip on the handle, he held his palms behind his rear. “E-Elder Kettle, no.”

“What did I say?”

It would be crazy, foolish and way out of his character to test his luck and the elder’s patience at this point. His palms were sweaty and the adrenaline coursing through his system was shutting down his ability to think logically. He wanted to run or charm his way out, but after what he had done to his family and neighbor, Cuphead knew he had rightfully earned a punishment beyond words.

So he did as told and spread his hands on the wall, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the strikes and out of embarrassment when his shorts were lowered. And when the strikes came, boy did he want to curse. _One, two, three, four._ They just kept coming, never stopping like those relentless torrents from the stream. _Ni__ne, ten, eleven, twelve._ He knew he was really getting it, he knew he had royally messed up, and he knew he deserved this. _…seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, **twenty**…_

Never again would Cuphead misbehave like this. He was a kid, sure, but that never warranted blatant disrespect towards the one who looked after him and Mugman. No matter how much he wanted to prove he was brave, or that he could take care of himself, or that for once the kettle was wrong about something.

_Twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight._

Only two licks short of the big three-oh, and Cuphead could finally breathe.

“Cuphead, look at me.”

He didn’t think he could turn his whole body, so he turned his head instead. “Y-yes?”

Elder Kettle’s eyes shifted in place and became glazed with a glassy layer of tears. As he blinked, they slowly slid down his cheeks. “I don’t want a repeat of this. Please son? Not again.”

Cuphead couldn’t tell if he meant going by the stream, the spanking, the misbehaving, going against orders… It was all too much, but whatever it was, he crossed his heart that he wouldn’t put the elder under any more stress.

“I promise, Elder Kettle.” He fell into the open arms of the offered hug. “D-do you still love me?”

A soft kiss pressed to the side of his head as the hug tightened. “No matter what.”


	28. A Sensational Summer {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are ready, set, and going to kick the summer off right!

Summer winds nudged and pushed the deep green foliage along the countryside of Inkwell Isle One, creating an ever-changing mosaic of light and shade that it had to circle around and share all the way over in the third hustle and bustle of the overworld. Heat licked at sunburned faces and arms on the overcrowded beach, the white sand shimmering in the intense rays of the sun while women’s hats cocooned their new hairdos and children ran amok, shrieking in the cold water.

But still, in the haze of the mid-morning and among the transitory beauty of summer, Inkwell Isle Three was not selfish and passed along the joy. Today, the sunshine was in everyone’s hearts. It was as if the islanders glowed, their auras so gay for the summer days. Perfect for a day at the fair.

“Cuphead, wait up! You’re going too fast!”

“You just gotta move faster, slowpoke!”

A lazy and sunny weekend was most appropriately spent on Inkwell Isle Two. The main gate could easily be seen in the distance, with large crowds slowly but surely moving and children growing eager and restless as they took a step forward. Fluttering music swirled from outside the high gates, with the occasional yell splitting the air from those on the rollercoasters.

Cuphead and Mugman could see, as they got closer to the entrance, the huge frameworks of the rides and games: darts and ring tosses, the Ferris Wheel, merry-go-rounds, the bumper cars, and all sorts of tilt-a-whirls. Babies and toddlers were sitting in parents’ laps, enjoying the attention, while ice cream rolled off the cones of the messy eaters and cotton candy stuck to sugar-high faces.

Skidding to a stop and grinning out at all the attractions, the boys couldn’t believe their luck. The second isles held great pride in their carnival theme and welcomed all toons from other worlds to spend a summer getaway on their exciting grounds. Ever since Cuphead and Mugman could remember, Inkwell Isle Two had it in the bag when summer came knocking.

The annual Midnight Summer Festival? Only on isle two. A summertime soiree? Right on isle two. A four-day outdoor concert coupled with a snazzy picnic? Nothing topped the fun quite like it on Inkwell Isle Two!

The pair was certainly in for a treat.

“Gee, I can’t remember it ever being _this_ crowded,” Mugman commented, peeking over the leveled barrier separating the festivities from those in line.

“It’s summer,” Cuphead reminded him with an eye roll.

“Gosh, there’s so many kids!”

“The schoolhouse let out. And don’t forget we’re kids, too. We can still go on all the rides we did last year.”

Mugman smirked, cocking a thumb over to the side. “You sure?”

Cuphead glanced to where he was pointing and happened to see a decent line for one of the rollercoasters, supervised by a tall fox who was checking each kid under a height chart. He turned back to Mugman, promptly smacking him on the back and making him burst out laughing.

“Yes, I’m sure! I’m not a little kid anymore! I’ve grown. Elder Kettle said so.”

“You sure it’s not just your boots giving you height?”

“Okay smartypants, tell you what − when we get through, that’s the first ride we’ll go on. We’ll see who’s the tallest.”

Mugman nodded. “And then what?”

“Tallest…” Cuphead tapped the side of his handle, sorting through his most daring ideas and finally snapping his fingers at one. “Tallest has to sit in the very front, all by himself. And the shortest has to buy him a soda.”

Mugman chuckled at the proposal and stuck out his hand. “You’re on.”

It seemed that the increasingly excited and impatient ones in the front either helped or annoyed the workers checking the capacity for the theme park. Things were speeding up. While it was spacious and constantly alive with energy, Inkwell Isle Two also counted as a residential area for the entertainers and families who lived on the outskirts of the town. No one wanted a child running and getting lost with so many distractions, or for some pranksters to disrupt the flow and sneak off with their wild imaginations.

Two steps forward were taken by the minute, and in no time a cute cat worker welcomed the boys to the fair grounds and gestured with her tail that they were free to enter.

“Why don’t you share an ice cream float with her, Mugs?” Cuphead snickered, noticing his little brother’s head kept turning back every few seconds.

“I thought she was new,” Mugman said quickly, his porcelain dusted a light red. “I don’t remember seeing her around.”

“Aw c’mon, be a good boy and ask her on a date. I’m sure Cala wouldn’t mind. You could double date,” the teasing cup added as the blush spread.

“Sure, a double date. Me and Cala, you and my _foot−!_”

Mugman lunged forward, kicking at the empty air as Cuphead jumped aside and hooked an arm around his waist, tugging him out of the way of leggy traffic.

“We’ll wrestle later. Don’t forget our deal. C’mon already before the line gets too long!”

Much like getting in, it took a while having to wait for all the ecstatic boys and girls in front of them to move along. They only had to stop a couple times when the ride had filled up its maximum number of seats, but the two exchanged an anticipating grin when they were up next. The fox gave them a tired but friendly smile as he gestured for Cuphead to step forward, checked his height, and nodded.

Cuphead remained by the attendant’s side. “Is it okay if I wait for my _little_ brother for a second? I wanna see if he’s grown since Christmas.”

The fox chuckled while Mugman glared. “I don’t see why not. Come along son.”

Mugman stepped up to the giraffe-shaped chart, moving his straw as the fox followed his finger where the centimeter line stopped about three inches from where Cuphead had stood.

“You’re okay to pass, too. Enjoy the ride boys. Next please?”

“I’m in the mood for strawberry,” Cuphead whispered, nudging Mugman’s side.

“And I’m in the mood to stop slouching,” Mugman whispered back, straightening his back. He easily stood two inches taller than Cuphead. “I didn’t feel like a soda today,” he added, sticking his tongue out at his brother’s dumbfounded look.

The main point was that both were able to ride the rollercoaster together and chose to brave the front with one another. So much needed to be explored before the afternoon was spent; more than two rollercoasters had to be ridden if you were no chicken, Cuphead reasoned; funnel cakes, caramel apples and corn dogs, both brothers agreed, were a must to have in between the rides; and no kid or adult could resist the water gun games. Anyone was a cool winner (literally) if you aimed to the left or right.

The amount of sugar worked on opposite levels for the boys, seeing as how Cuphead was extremely wired up on cotton candy, kettle corn, and the shared soda from the earlier deal that he just couldn’t sit down and enjoy the hourly skits the carnival was starting to introduce. During each hour, impromptu actors and comedy duos would head to the clearing in front of the benches and eating grounds, entertaining the kids and getting silent _thank-you’s_ from the parents, who could rest their feet for about twenty minutes before they had to leave for a break.

In the first seven minutes of the third show, Cuphead had been so into the princess’s rescue that he bounced his way in to jump on the “serpent’s” back, biting down on the costume’s eye to assist the knight − much to Mugman’s embarrassment, the other children’s delight, and the actors’ surprise. Thankfully they were all in a good mood, and the cute redhead in her crown picked the dish up and hugged him, exclaiming “my hero!” before giving him a great big kiss on the cheek.

Still in a sugar high, Cuphead had pointed to the crowd and said, “Can my brother get a kiss, too?”

His announcement brought the bright red blush back to Mugman’s face, followed by several kids waving their hands and asking for a kiss, too. He was never sharing another soda with Cuphead for as long as he lived.

Mugman’s sugar spike was a whole lot different. Rather than speeding off or jumping on someone in a costume, his focus wavered and he got a whole lot quieter. Cuphead had to look over his shoulder three times when he led him to the bumper cars and almost lost sight of him when he stopped to look at the people walking or a stray balloon floating away. The little mug had a moment or two when he surprised Cuphead − like sidestepping off to the entrance to wave at the cat worker or pointing out the Barbershop Quartet singing for their own crowd.

Cuphead figured it wouldn’t hurt for both him and Mugman to settle down before they really crashed and sat down with him in the grass in front of the four performers. He watched with a lazy smile as they harmonized about the first day of summer.

_Whose summer is that? I think I know._  
_Its owner is quite happy so._  
_(So) Full of joy like a vivid rainbow,_  
_I watch her laugh. I cry ‘hello’!_

_She gives my hand a lovely shake,_  
_And shines until the morning breaks._  
_Oh, in the night, I lie awake,_  
_To distant waves in their own clambake._

Cuphead would have to learn the full song later when he could concentrate. The voices were lulling him to sleep, but he forced his eyes to stay open and turned to smile at Mugman.

_Where is Mugman?_

That was the continuous jittery thought running through his mind as he inched away from the singing and scanned the fair grounds. At the same time he ran through the list of places he could be, he was dashing through the crowd and between the vibrant stalls and booths. Cuphead started checking off the ones he’d already searched through and moved quickly along the rides, eyes darting wildly with each passing second. Whenever he noticed a hint of blue, he hoped it was Mugman’s shorts and sped up, calling out his name and getting ever louder until some heads turned in his direction.

“Elder Kettle’s gonna kill me,” Cuphead muttered to himself. “If he doesn’t kill Mugman first.”

He squeezed in between the gaggle of legs and arms, muttering out apologies and _excuse me’s_, when he stopped dead in his tracks. A trail of brightly colored balls of sugar was leading off to the entrance of the third isles. Didn’t Mugman have those after they’d finished the ring toss?

Desperate at this point, Cuphead followed the trail into the city, debating on whether or not he’d be telling Elder Kettle what had happened when they returned home. No kid should start his summer off grounded, but this wasn’t like Mugman to slip off and not tell.

_Mugs, you’re gonna get it_, the little cup scolded in his mind, finally spotting a flash of blue up ahead on the docks. Blue and purple.

Cuphead stopped himself from calling out and hid behind a light pole, straining to hear what his brother and Cala Maria were talking about. He noticed one of those ridiculously large stuffed animals couples usually tried to win at carnivals was beside the railing, and Mugman was struggling to push it upright. Cala was halfway out of the water, curious and confused at what he had.

“…for you. Isn’t it neat?” Was what Cuphead heard Mugman saying. He moved a little closer and hid behind a bench, trying to hear more. “The man said it’s waterproof, too! Well, it needs water to be cleaned anyway. But that’s okay. Nothing’ll hurt it.”

Cala tilted her head, gently poking the oversized teddy bear. “What’s his name?”

“Oh, well I named him George, b-but he can be called whatever you like. He’s all yours. I’m bad at naming things.”

“That sounds like a good name, but… I like the name Cherry. His bowtie reminds me of how nice and sweet they are.” She leaned forward, nuzzling her button-nose into Mugman’s large blue one. “Just like you.”

Cuphead had to stuff a fist in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud and gagging at the corny line. Boy, was he going to have fun with this one. Mugman was such a dork, all flustered and tongue-tied and babbling like a broken phonogram all from a nose kiss. He wondered if he and Cala had ever actually kissed on the lips yet. A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, and a kiss on the cheek meant you were a real catch.

But on the lips? Zowie.

As much as he wanted to tease Mugman about him and his girlfriend being all mushy, there were other times for that. Cuphead snuck off back to the second isles, sitting by the tables closest to the exit until Mugman decided to return. His face was just as goofy when Cala had almost kissed him. Well, no sense in wasting a tease now.

“Where were you? Did you ask that nice cat lady out for an ice cream?”

Mugman shook his head, eyes full of hearts. “Better.”

“Better than ice cream?”

Cuphead slung an arm around his brother’s shoulder, trying to keep his laughter down, and guided him to the heart of the fair. He was definitely due for some teasing sooner or later, but for now, the two were going to enjoy the start of another season. Every second of it.

This was going to be a summer to remember!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are in for a treat! As a celebration for finishing up my second year of college, the end of my finals and the start of my summer vacation, and as a jump from the recent blue chapters, Cuphead, Mugman and Elder Kettle are going to be taking a vacation from Inkwell Isle and traveling someplace special. This means more adventures, familiar faces, and plenty of mischief for the cup brothers.
> 
> I’ve been writing down ideas and drafts, so that’s why there’s been a week of absence. I can’t wait to get them out for you all. Stay safe, good luck if you’re still in school, and have a great summer! ☀️


	29. Camp Help It {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The air is right, it’s a starry night, and Cuphead and Mugman are all set for camping in the woods again. And wouldn’t you know it, a certain little dish has been cooking up quite the nightly scheme.

The intensity and excitement of the campfire burned with the smokiness of bonfires teenagers usually snuck out to the woods to set up. But rather than staying out past curfew and crushing Cola bottles, tonight the woodlands would be occupied by a pair of pals who could find any kind of adventure from anything in nature.

Mugman sat close to the crackling fire on a mossy log, his nose warm and back cool, drawn in and relaxed by the lights cast by the flames. He leaned his marshmallow further in, watching the heat lick at the sticky treat and sending feeble toasty browns to coat it just the right way he liked…

“Don’t even think about it.”

Behind him, arms up and hands clawed near his shoulders, Cuphead blinked a mile a minute. His mouth was stuck open in the now mute yell he wasn’t able to let out.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I’m your brother. I know you like the back of my hand.” Mugman fit the marshmallow in his mouth, jutting a thumb to the side. “’Sides, I saw your shadow.”

“You little cheat!” Cuphead half teased, half snapped. He lightly shoved him over and reached into the small bag of the squared fluffy treats. “Know any good stories?”

Mugman laughed. Leave it to Cuphead to be sore about not getting to give him a fright at the most opportune moment, but then the next minute he was itching to hear something funny. Or in this case, with so many crickets out and the moon full, scary. He vaguely remembered the stories they had shared last year in early October, but what he was able to recall was that they had sent shivers all over his body.

He knew they were just stories, but still − a tale of an older brother turning into a monster and eating his little brother gave him the heebie jeebies.

“Not tonight,” Mugman finally answered with a shrug, squeezing another marshmallow on the stick. “You?” The grin Cuphead sent his way told him the answer. “Oh boy…”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Cuphead produced one of their flashlights, clicking it on and off beneath his eyes to give him the usual spooky effect. He wrapped a tight arm around Mugman’s shoulders and pulled him close.

“You ever wonder why the frogs and crickets start croaking and chirping together?”

“Miss Lucy says that’s how they talk to one another.”

“True, but what do you think they’re talking about?”

_Something ‘scary’, I guess_. “I dunno. The weather?”

Cuphead clapped him hard on the back. “Right-o pal!”

It was Mugman’s turn to blink a mile a minute. “Wait, that was right?”

“Of course. What else would they be talking about?”

The little mug scratched the side of his head, expecting a scarier stinger than that, but maybe he was reading his brother wrong. Maybe he didn’t have that much of a scary story to spin. The thought made him relax, and the fact that he had been correct in guessing made him smile.

“Well, Elder Kettle talks about the weather with The Root Pack sometimes after he reads the paper,” Mugman pointed out.

Cuphead nodded. “Right. And you know why?”

“’Cause they gotta make sure their crops can grow, and that way the isles can have vegetables on the table.”

“Regular whiz, aren’t ya? Frogs and crickets help out, too. They pass messages on from others when folks like The Root Pack can’t hear it. But…” Cuphead shrugged, looking a bit concerned. “You know how messages can get mixed up? Like when we send letters and they come back because we forgot the stamp?”

“Sure.”

“Some animals aren’t that good of hearing, and a lot just like to blab. Then they forget what they’re talking about and their warnings get lost.”

Mugman gave a start at the different word. “Warnings? What happened to the messages?”

“Same difference,” Cuphead reasoned with a lazy wave of the hand. “If they can’t pass along something so simple as a ‘look out’ or ‘help’, then they’re in for some trouble.” He shrugged and traded his flashlight for a spare stick, preparing to toast another marshmallow. “Oh well.”

“No ‘oh well’! W-why are they passing that along? Who needs to look out?” Mugman shook his brother’s arm and almost made him drop the stick. “Who needs help?”

Cuphead nonchalantly blew on his warmed up treat, biting the corner while staring at Mugman out the corner of his eye and shrugging again. Surprise and confusion widened in the mug’s eyes, and soon his fists balled up lightly in anger.

“Cuphead, you can’t do that!” He snapped, jabbing a finger in his chest. “You can’t just start a story and not finish it! Who needs help? Why are the frogs and crickets so bad at sending their messages?”

“They’re not the ones bad at it.” Finishing his treat and swapping once again with his flashlight, Cuphead gestured for Mugman to follow him. “It’s the fish.”

“Fish?”

“Yep. They’re only comfortable underwater, right?”

“Right.”

“They can’t just come up for air for ten minutes and start gabbing. They’re not like Cala; they can’t visit the surface any time they want, and they don’t always get the attention.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mugman wondered.

Cuphead went silent for a while, and Mugman had to keep stealing glances his way to make sure he was still by his side and hadn’t snuck off behind one of the trees to scare him. He spared a look over his shoulder for a second too long, barely making out their camping spot. The fire was getting dimmer and dimmer with each step, and Elder Kettle’s home was nothing but a dark splotch far in the background.

Mugman was startled into an abrupt stop when Cuphead’s arm shot out in front of him. The two had come to a small pond somewhere west of the woods. It was nothing special − rocks, lily pads, and a lumpy patch of murky water. He sometimes felt bad that it wasn’t bright and flourishing like the rest of isle one. The dark wasn’t doing it much justice; it looked just as murky and creepy.

Even the moon seemed to want to avoid it.

“Cuphead, what are we doing here?” Mugman could feel the shakiness in his whisper before he’d heard it.

“Relax Mugs, we’re only a couple minutes away from the house,” Cuphead reassured with a soft pat on the back. He pointed to the water before crouching down. “See those little green things in the water?”

“Aren’t they called…aw-gee?”

“Algae. Fish eat it and get energy. Not all algae is good.” Cuphead started poking a finger in the pond. “It could make them tired, angry, hungry for more, distracted…”

“Is that why they’re not so good at communicating? They get full and just…forget? Or they get angry with the taste, like you when Elder Kettle makes you eat all your broccoli or you won’t get dessert?”

“Food should not be green!”

Mugman giggled to himself, staring at what he was able to see of his reflection. He was really starting to wonder if this was a story coming from Cuphead’s wild imagination, something halfway educational and halfway fantastical, or just—

_Splash!_

Mugman whirled around, being blinded by the bright beam of the flashlight. The flashlight no longer in Cuphead’s hands. His eyes widened as they did a wide sweep around where he was, then another and another.

“Cups?” Silence, except for the frogs. His straw started shaking. “Cuphead?”

The crickets screeched loudly once the frogs were done, and the slightest buzz of mosquitoes and blinking of fireflies followed shortly after. Mugman gulped, quickly taking the flashlight and scanning it around.

“Cuphead? Come on, where are you?” _Ribbit…ribbit_. “Cups, come on! I-I’m getting cold. I wanna go back to the fire and sit, and tell other stories that…that don’t…” _Ribbit, water…ribbit…_

Wait, did a frog just say ‘water’? The only frogs Mugman knew that were capable of speech were Ribby and Croaks. And the Red Baron Hook, but he wasn’t a fan of the amphibian.

“Hello?” He called out.

_Water…water…_

“W-what about the water, Mister Frog? What? Is there something wrong with the water?”

_ **Water.** _

Mugman started at the hard tone and hesitantly approached the pond. “Okay, okay! Don’t have to be snappy about it,” he muttered the last part.

Swallowing again, he flashed the beam in the tiny space, scanning every inch of the dark water. He saw nothing but the plants and algae on the surface. Gosh, either he had listened to one sloppy messenger or he just wasn’t looking close enough. So with a courage that surprised him, Mugman leaned forward, squinting at how motionless the pond sat. He could barely make out his reflection; his curious, worried but determined reflection…

Smiling at him?

Something, his reflection he thought, sprang out the water and tackled him. A high-pitched shriek shot out Mugman’s mouth as he was drenched from head to toe in the cold water, something tapping fast against his head.

“_Ribbit, ribbit!_ You followed my message perfectly!”

“Cuphead!”

The red trickster grinned, shaking off a couple lily pads decorating the top of his head like a hat and wringing out his shorts. He gave a silly bow, winking at the dumbfounded look he was being given.

“C’mon, where’s my applause? Do you know how hard it was to keep that story going? I had no idea what the heck I was talking about! Boy, you ate it up. ‘Who needs help?’ ‘You can’t start a story and not finish.’”

Cuphead snorted once before being taken over by laughter, stumbling to the side and clutching his stomach. He didn’t see the slow glare spreading across Mugman’s face.

“I’m listening, Mister Frog! What’s in the water?” He mimicked the bumbling innocence. “Oh man, if only I could hold my breath longer!”

Cuphead was laughing harder, and Mugman was glaring harder. He rolled up one of his sleeves, still damp from the pond, and promptly smacked his brother’s head that briefly popped off to spin a clean 360. Cuphead instantly got himself under control, and after shaking away the cobwebs and steadying himself, he glared too.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“And I hate it when you scare me! But keep it up,” Mugman warned, poking him in the chest, “and I’ll pop your head off and hide it in the bushes.”

Cuphead blew a raspberry and headed toward the clearing, a grumpy Mugman at his side. “Sippy cup.”

“Jerk.”

“Big chicken.”

“Double jerk.”

“Oh, how original.”

The two could go on for hours on end, trading childish insults and blows, but sooner or later their tones would start getting ugly. Cuphead didn’t want that. He hated whenever he and Mugman fought, especially over something so silly like an unshared toy or a prank gone wrong. Sometimes he thought maybe he did need to dial it down on his pranks and scary stories for his sensitive sibling’s sake. It was kind of funny seeing Mugman’s reactions, but he never wanted to scare or upset him bad enough that he wouldn’t talk to him ever again.

Sighing and stirring around a bit of his pride, Cuphead draped a damp arm around Mugman’s damper shoulders, pulling him close as they drew nearer to their campfire.

“Mugs, you know I don’t mean to get you red in the face all the time. I’m just trying to have fun around here.” He shrugged as he sat down with him, gesturing around to the trees. “We see the same things everyday. It doesn’t hurt to spice things up every once in a while, huh?”

Mugman huffed in response.

“Mugman, come on. I’m sorry, all right? It’s just spills, thrills, laughs and games. If I ever—”

“Gosh! Will you just be quiet already? _Please_. I’m trying to think of how I can get back at you, but better.”

Cuphead blinked slow at those words, and when he saw the slight grin on his brother’s face, he just about tackled him again. “You little sneak!” He laughed out, tickling his sides.

“Don’t give me any ideas!” Mugman got out between his giggling, swatting at the hands but to no avail.

Cuphead went from tickling to his usual light wrapping on the mug’s head. “Atta boy! So, do you forgive me?”

Mugman shrugged, righting himself up and catching his breath. “That depends.”

“On?”

“If the frogs and crickets can get the message to you.”


	30. Pier Pressure {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing pirate is something Cuphead and Mugman enjoy to high heavens. But what happens when their favorite captain has to abandon ship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, my 30th chapter. I still can’t thank you all enough! Thank you so much for the support, comments, and love for this story! More fantastic, adventure-filled, adrenaline rushing chapters coming soon ❤️️ 💙

_As the relentless black waves battered The Cherry Bomb, she lurched dangerously to and fro, performing figure eights and all kinds of fantastic curves. The rain lashed down in thick sheets while the gales howled above them. Captain Brineybeard was as mad as a dog in the noonday sun, and over the ferocious winds he bellowed, “Raise the Jolly Roger!”_

_The ship swung starboard alongside boulders and the enemy ship approaching. The captain knew a boarding in this storm was utter lunacy, but it was what the crew had come to expect from him. Shouting curses, the sailors raised their swords above their heads, leaping onto the invading ship. Some fell into the tumult of waves, never to be seen again, others braved a worse storm of blades and cutlasses slicing at their legs and heads._

_Sooner or later they had to—_

“Raise the sails, Mugman! This wind isn’t being too kind to us!”

“Aye, aye, Captain Cuphead!”

Mugman slid down from the crow’s nest with the skills of a pro, fearlessly hopping atop the bowsprit and yanking down the flying jib. He gazed out at the calm waters and white caps of sea foam, but in his and Cuphead’s wild imagination, he had struggled through the merciless rain and biting winds to untie their last hope of escaping their pursuers. Cuphead was on the quarterdeck, spinning the wheel while the bright red ship bobbed languidly in the water, undisturbed and highly amused with her playmates.

“The clouds are getting darker! See what you can find out there!”

Mugman saluted. “Okie-dokie then!”

Cuphead did a double take. “You don’t say ‘okie-dokie then’ like you’re a baby, Mugs. Pirates say ‘_arrgh_’ to be tough!”

“Oh right, okie… Oops!” The little mug giggled to himself and scaled up the foremast like it was a tree, the telescope under his arm eventually pressing to his eye. “I mean, _arrgh_ Captain Cuphead! Right away!”

The waters were clean and soft, pulsing like a steady heartbeat and sending up the famous scents of sea salt, seaweed, and fish. Mugman glanced over to shore, spotting the beachgoers lounging happily in the summer sun while the royal blue waves crept over seashells and pebbles. All of this, of course, was flipped in the boys’ pirate fantasy. Nothing but gray clouds on the horizon, slim hope in the raging waters, and—

“I see something!” Mugman exclaimed.

“Is it friend or foe?” Cuphead called out.

“Friend!” Cala Maria looked so tiny in the distance, tending to her hair and mouth moving in an unheard song. “A really cute friend!”

Cuphead rolled his eyes and did a quick gagging motion before stopping the wheel and hopping down the steps. He signaled for Mugman to first drop the telescope for him, then to climb down.

“Trade places with me before you get lovesick.”

Mugman pouted. “Aw, but I like playing sailor.”

“I know, ‘cause you get to hog the telescope. It’s my turn now.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s try and find land this time,” Mugman added over his shoulder, making his way to the ship’s wheel.

Cuphead shrugged, peering through the telescope. “We’ll see. Remember how Brineybeard said it was so dark he could barely see the tip of his nose? We should…” His suggestion trailed off when he caught something approaching the ship. “I see a friend, too! Two friends.”

Mugman scurried from his post to see for himself, waving over the side of the ship and cupping his hands over his mouth to shout, “Ahoy there!”

“Ahoy, mateys!” Brineybeard shouted back, while Elder Kettle simply chuckled and waved. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

“The more the merrier!” Cuphead replied, tapping the ship twice so she’d lower the gangplank. He ignored Mugman’s quiet ‘I thought I was captain’ and grinned at the adults. “Are you going to play with us, too?”

Elder Kettle was quick to decline. “Oh no my boy. I’d have no idea what in the world you’d be talking about.”

“You’d catch on,” Mugman promised, then glanced over to Brineybeard. “How about it? You’re a real captain. You could be it after my turn,” he added, scowling at Cuphead.

Brineybeard chuckled, patting each dish’s head. “I would lads, I would love to. But I can’t, ya see. I’m goin’ to be a lot busier than I’d like.”

“Busy with what?” Mugman curiously asked.

“Yeah, maybe we can help,” Cuphead added.

“That’s very kind of ye, but it’s nothing you two would find entertainin’.”

The brothers shared a puzzled look. The schoolhouse wasn’t open, so anything could be entertaining for them. Even if it was just loading and unloading boxes on the dock, Cuphead and Mugman wouldn’t mind. Brineybeard always shared his stories out at sea whenever they had time to visit the city. It was extremely rare for either of the good friends to see one another, and summer vacation made it even more challenging with so many people flocking to the beach.

“We promise we won’t get in trouble.” Mugman shook Elder Kettle’s arm. “Can we Elder Kettle? Please, can we?”

Cuphead copied what his brother was doing on the opposite side. “I won’t run off if he needs an extra hand. I’ll be good! Please?”

“Boys, boys, you’ve no idea what the man even needs help with. Besides, this is something he’d rather do on his own.”

The pair looked at one another again, together asking, “How come?”

“Well…” Brineybeard scratched at his chin, looking from one pair of eyes to the other. “Cuphead, Mugman, I won’t be around for the summer season. Maybe even longer. I don’t know when I’ll be returnin’, but I’ve got some hefty business I oughta take care of before someone else does.”

The words fell like a cold bucket of water on the boys’ heads. Not around for the summer? Brineybeard may not have always been their first choice to go to when they were bored, but the captain told such riveting stories and let them play pirate on his ship. He was always so jolly and nice, and he’d be the first one they’d spot when they crossed over from Inkwell Isle Two. He gave them great big bear hugs like an uncle, shared advice and lessons like a teacher, and treated them to a Cola if they were extra-extra good like a good pal.

What were they going to do now with him going away?

“You mean…you mean we won’t get to see you at all anymore?” Mugman managed to get out.

“Ah, c’mere lads,” Brineybeard chuckled out, drawing him and Cuphead close for a hug. “You be sayin’ that as if I’ll just up and disappear on ya. I wouldn’t do that, no way, no how! I just got errands to run, folks to visit.”

“How come?” Mugman was the only one to be vocal about the situation. Cuphead kept quiet.

“It’s like how Kettle here has to go places for work so he can make sure those bellies are full and you’ve got a good roof over your head. Don’t worry,” Brineybeard added with a wink. “Think of it like me old travels out at sea. I’ll bring back tons of stories, more than yer tiny cups can hold!”

That was the captain’s favorite thing to say to them. The boys hoped he wouldn’t forget his promise wherever he was going. Where could he be going, anyway?

Inkwell Isle was big in size but small in options. There were rumored to be more tiny islands with other inhabitants out on the waters, but they were said to be “unfinished” or “unused”. Neither Cuphead nor Mugman could imagine the overconfident and adventurous Captain Brineybeard traveling to some shrinky-dink island for an errand he could easily do on the main isles. Cuphead was especially interested in trying to figure out what kind of place needed ‘hefty business’ done and the kind of folks Brineybeard was going to visit.

He tried to think back on all those boring Inkwell Isle History lessons and how other toon overworlds had contributed someway throughout the centuries. There was a city named Toontown in the heart of a world called Los Angeles, but it didn’t really fit Brineybeard’s disposition. Some bonkers area called Cool World wasn’t as mentioned in the textbooks and hardly ever visited, so Cuphead doubted the sprightly old captain would go there.

Though with a name like Cool World, he personally wouldn’t mind visiting for a day or two.

“Cuphead, is everything alright?”

He looked up from his plate to Elder Kettle, running a fork over his stuffed potatoes and squash to the point where it looked like a dirty pillow had exploded all of its feathers out.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

Mugman looked from the art project on his brother’s plate to his half finished milk. “I’ll take it.”

Elder Kettle gave his youngest a warning look before turning back to the sulking red dish. At his silence, slight fidgeting, and lack of eye contact, it wasn’t that hard to put two and two together. The kettle sighed and put a hand over his.

“I see. You’re still upset because Brineybeard’s leaving in a few of days.”

Cuphead shrugged.

“It’ll be alright, son. You and Mugman can always send him letters. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you two.”

Mugman nodded, having already snuck what was salvageable off Cuphead’s plate while they’d been talking. “Yeah, and there’s lots of other things we could do, Cups,” he pointed out. “Other games we could play, other folks we could visit.”

“I know, it’s just…” Cuphead sighed. “It’s just gonna be weird not seeing the ship first when we go to the city, or not hearing Brineybeard sing or laugh by the beach.”

“Or see him talking to Werner. It’s like they’re girls, always gossiping.” Mugman laughed to himself, heard what he had said, and slumped his head in his palm. “Gosh, I’m gonna miss him, too.”

Elder Kettle stood and placed either hand on his boys’ shoulders, bringing them close in a hug. “I’ll miss him as well, but don’t let this rain on your parade. You never know; Brineybeard may return earlier than you think.”

A knock at the door lightly startled the three, and Mugman hopped out his chair first to answer. At his surprised shout of Brineybeard’s name, Cuphead and Elder Kettle shared an incredulous look.

“Boy, that was fast,” Cuphead said, scrambling to the den.

Indeed the black bearded man was at their door, chuckling at an ecstatic Mugman in his arms. When Cuphead raced over, Brineybeard scooped him up and held him close.

“Brineybeard, what are you doing here?”

“Yeah, we thought you’d still be packing.”

“Did you change your mind about leaving? Huh? Did ya?”

“Did you run all the way over here? You’re all sweaty!”

One by one questions flew out so casually as if Cuphead and Mugman were asking about the pirate’s excursions. It got him chuckling and shaking his head in amusement.

“I’ll answer the most important one first − no, I did not run. I took a water route to get over to the second isles, got splashed, but still took my time here.”

“How come? You changed your mind about leaving?” Cuphead asked again.

“No, I’ll still be leavin’ soon.” The hopeful faces on the two dropped. “But that’s what I wanted to talk to your ol’ kettle about.”

Elder Kettle made his way through the den, tilting his head to the side. “Whatever for?”

“I had me a chat with Sally’s husband on transportation, and he made a good point about making sure when I get to where I need to be, that I have good management behind me. Someone to steer me straight.”

“Oh?”

“_Arrgh_. Though the perfect man for the job has two boys already on his hands, and he’d be damned if he ever left them behind. So it got me thinkin’, there ain’t harm in bringin’ all three along.”

Cuphead and Mugman’s face washed with surprise, like their minds couldn’t turn fast enough to take in the information. Every part of their body was frozen before a grin crept on their mouths, stretching from one side to the other and showing every single tooth.

“You mean…you mean we’re going on an adventure with you for the whole summer?” Mugman exclaimed.

“Me, Mugs, and Elder Kettle? Really?” Cuphead added.

“I couldn’t go anywhere without me helpers and my righthand man. What do you say Kettle?”

The tanned pot chuckled at the kids’ expectant puppy eyes. He’d be a fool to flat out say no without hearing more about the proposal. Plus, he knew Cuphead and Mugman would miss the pirate terribly. He was their biggest playmate.

“I wouldn’t mind. Where would we be going?”

Brineybeard went to open his mouth, then changed his mind and brought Cuphead and Mugman close so he could whisper to them first. Their curious expressions snapped into that of excitement.

Cuphead’s eyes shone brighter than diamonds. “Gosh, are we really?”

Nothing could outshine Mugman’s grin. “That’s so neat! Elder Kettle, you’ll never guess where we’re going!”

“I bet I couldn’t. Out with it boys. What did Brineybeard say?”

Together, with a wide grin and a passionate giggle, Cuphead and Mugman cheered out:

“New York City!”


	31. A Ferry, Ferry Weird Day {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inkwell Ferry is on its way to New York, and it’s smooth sailing as soon as it leaves the docks. Out in the middle of the ocean, however…

In every direction the twilight blue ocean met the fluffy white clouds on the horizon. It was as still as a millpond, the surface barely rippled, and the waters broke the sunlight into a mosaic of colors. The local Inkwell Ferry was ready and set to take its passengers to the docks of all sorts of places, first stop: New York City.

Mugman leaned over the railing, taking in the clear view of the endless blue all around and grinning down at the thick white trail streaming behind from the eager departure. With energy bubbling up like a shaken Cola bottle, he whooped out towards the land growing smaller and smaller, waving at whoever could still see him.

“I still can’t believe it − New York City!” Mugman bounced on his toes, daring to lean out further. “Golly Cups, isn’t this exciting?”

“…Huh…”

“Imagine Miss Lucy and everyone else’s faces at the schoolhouse once summer’s over when we say we went with Brineybeard all the way off the island to a whole new world.”

“_…Mmfh…_”

“We could even make new friends out there! We’d have pen pals! Oh gosh, I can’t stand it. I wanna get there right− Cuphead, what are you eating?”

Mugman had finally paused his excited rant to give his brother attention. He hadn’t thought much of the cup’s strange grumbling noises until the sound of paper crinkling stood out above his voice. Half of Cuphead’s face was buried in a white bag, and when he didn’t answer, Mugman padded over and sat by him on the bench.

“You gonna share?” He teased, poking his brother’s arm.

“It…el…dill.”

“Hey, you’ve been practicing your Latin!”

The violent cough that erupted out of Cuphead’s mouth was nowhere near the classical language and made Mugman flinch so hard he fell off the bench.

“Ge-et Elder Kettle!”

Cuphead just didn’t understand it.

He climbed trees at crazy heights and jumped from their branches just to see bird nests up close when binoculars didn’t cut it. He scaled all kinds of boulders and rocks, always trying to outdo his past records. He’d flown aeroplanes with Mugman, ridden roller coasters when he was tall enough, he explored secret caverns at midnight with nothing but a flashlight. He fought the Devil, for Pete’s sake!

And what was this one problem that he couldn’t beat?

“Cuphead, please take one and find a shady spot to relax in.”

“Poor lad. We won’t be sailin’ for long, so you keep calm.”

“He’s gonna be okay, right Elder Kettle?”

Cuphead got seasick. It was news to him, it was news to his family and Brineybeard, and it might as well have been news to everyone on the ferry. It was bad enough his stomach was burning from trying not to throw up; he didn’t need his whole face to start doing the same while his back was being pat by Elder Kettle, Brineybeard was trying to distract him with a story, and Mugman kept giving him sympathetic glances.

“This is dumb.” Like a child, Cuphead was crossing his arms and pouting after swallowing the flavorless medicine. “I’ve never gotten sick playing pirate.”

“_Aye_, but I can’t allow you boys to actually be sailin’ out in the open seas,” Brineybeard chuckled. “Ole Cherry stays where she’s docked.”

“Do you feel a little better out of the sun?” Elder Kettle asked, feeling around his boy’s head.

Cuphead stuck out his tongue. “No. I still feel like I did when Mugman once dared me to lick the swing set.”

“No, I said ‘Cuphead, _don’t_ lick the swing set’ and you said ‘don’t tell me what to do Mugs’.” Mugman poked his nose. “And then you licked the swing set.”

Elder Kettle shook his head. “Well there’ll be none of that here. Mugman, you keep your brother company while he’s calming down.”

“We won’t be far.” Brineybeard squeezed both boys’ shoulders. “If you need anything, just shout for us. You’ll feel better soon lad.”

The red dish watched with an envious gleam in his eye as his caretaker and Brineybeard slowly headed to the front of the ferry, idly talking − most likely about him − on their way. Mugman took the empty space beside him, clicking the heels of his boots. Cuphead sighed under his breath and thumped his back to the wall, crossing his arms tighter. He was no baby. He shouldn’t be throwing up because of some bouncy waters. He’d never thrown up visiting Ribby and Croaks!

Well, one time he did, but that was only because he’d bet his entire allowance that he could chug three root beers in two minutes. Mugman had become 20-cents richer and Cuphead had puked. It was worth it.

Though…had the boat been moving? Cuphead couldn’t remember, and he was suddenly too lazy and tired to care. His head lolled onto Mugman’s shoulder, his eyes drooping as he slipped in and out of fits of sleep.

“Cuphead, are you okay?”

“Yeah, why…why do you ask?”

A grip on Cuphead’s shoulder momentarily woke him up, but after a second he was gone again. “Cups,” Mugman slowly started, keeping him upright, “how much medicine did you take?”

Cuphead shrugged, holding up his four-fingered hand. “Three of them. Didn’t even taste like candy.”

He watched Mugman zoom off in the direction Elder Kettle and Brineybeard had gone off, shrugged it off, and lowered himself on the bench like it was his bed. Why was he out of the sun, anyway? It was such a cool day, and he was going to New York! He needed to enjoy it. With a little grunt, Cuphead pushed himself off the bench, rolling a little ways to the left and causing a few passengers to shout in alarm and hop out of the way.

He did soon remember that walking was a thing and wobbled to his feet, feeling up and down the walls trying to find the warmest spot on the ferry, all the while muttering, “Sun, sun…where are you sun?”

This earned a lot of stares, a majority of the passengers sunbathing or coupled out by the railings turning in either confusion or shock.

“That little tyke’s got a boy of his own?” A pelican muttered to his wife.

“Must be adopted,” she muttered back.

Meanwhile with Mugman in such a rush, he couldn’t track down Elder Kettle or Brineybeard anywhere to ask if it was normal to go from nauseous to grumpy to sleepy in a span of thirty seconds.

_For an elder and a man with two peglegs, they sure move fast…_

_…and so does Cuphead!_

Mugman raced up and down the deck, checking the other benches, looking behind life preservers, and under passengers’ chairs. He even looked overboard, just in case, and began to secretly hope Cuphead was just messing with him and would pop out somewhere, having wanted to scare him ever since they boarded and couldn’t wait to rub it in his face that he was a scaredy-cat even in the daylight.

“Cups! Cuphead! Olly olly oxen free!”

The tiniest shade resembling red caught Mugman’s eye just around the corner, and he scrambled after it only to nearly collide with the tail of a red panda. He watched, puzzled, as the toon freely stepped under an open walkway into what looked to be the dining area of the ferry. Mugman couldn’t get three steps in without being stopped by a pencil to his nose.

A tall bird peered down at him through thin glasses. “Are you lost son?”

“No, sir. I think my brother may have come in here. I’m supposed to be—”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you inside without an adult.”

“But I was supposed to be watching him! He could be inside.”

“No, no, that’s impossible. Nothing slips past me. I have eyes like a hawk. No child is to be left unsupervised on this ferry. It’s much too dangerous.”

This host obviously did not know Cuphead. The red-accented toon had stopped stumbling out on the deck after he saw four of the same ostrich running back and forth through a set of swinging doors, and he’d stopped walking altogether when his head suddenly clonked on a pair of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. He was now slumped in a corner, the hum of a frigidaire louder than the faint ringing in his head.

No wait, something was actually ringing. A bell.

Cuphead spotted a large red bull furiously smacking a bell with a whisk before he bungled off to the sink. A cart three sizes too big rolled out, and one of the ostrich quartets skittered back and forth from a counter, loading it with various items. When he didn’t return, Cuphead swung himself up on the side of the handle to see. Several cream pies smothered in buttercream and strawberries were stacked high on a large tray, accompanied with three dozen cookies sprinkled in pink sugar dust and a great big hot milk cake.

The second ding of the bell coincided with Cuphead’s eyes widening, his pupils dancing around at all the treats practically handed to him on a silver platter while his mind whirled with sugary glazed mischief.

_Talk about hospitality!_

Now, he didn’t know whether to thank luck, blame his sudden hair-thin nerves, or refuse to set foot on a ferry again, but when the doors of the IN door to the kitchen violently burst open, Cuphead didn’t quite jump out of his skin and dive under the cart.

His head jumped off and his body dove under the cart.

There had to be something in the water that was making him react so fluid and sensitively. He’d never done this before! He was surprised in himself how he was no longer yawning, though now that he was fully aware of his actions and realizing how he had unintentionally ditched Mugman and seeing how he was now someplace entirely new on the ferry…

_Elder Kettle’s going to kill me._

Cuphead watched his gloves wave around the cart, attempting to reach his handle, but the body jumped a second time and hid back under. Something white was pushed on the left side of his head while sometime large and gold was settled on his right. The surface beneath him jerked for a second, and tables were steadily moving towards him.

Cuphead heard someone above him make a funny noise before plucking his straw out and continuing to push the cart forward. He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut anytime a pair of gloves got close, and when the waiter had finally finished placing whatever treats he had been planning to sneak off with onto a table, he handed him over to a small black cat fluttering her long eyelashes.

“My, you certainly know how to treat your passengers,” she gushed, lifting the literal cup head to her mouth.

“One lump or two?”

“None, sweet—”

The lady, realizing neither her beau nor the waiter had asked her the question, slowly glanced down at the drink in her hand. Cuphead’s eyes blinked open and a wan smile stretched across his face. With a bloody murder scream, she flung the talking dish away from her, startling everyone in the dining area. Waiters jumped and slipped into one another, sending desserts and drinks to the ground, tossed in the air, or accidentally thrown on someone’s head.

Children laughed and threw their food, thinking it was a game, while their parents desperately tried to stop them. Walls, tables, chairs, and even the ceiling were soon covered in food, ostriches were scampering back and forth with wet rags, and the chef back in the kitchen kept slapping the bell for complete orders, oblivious to what was happening outside.

The bird over by the entrance watched the debacle with widening eyes and a dropped jaw. Mugman let out a quiet courtesy laugh and pat his hand.

“Told you my brother may have come in here.”

The little mug ducked when a large hot milk cake sailed towards him, splatting all over the host who was as still as a statue. Mugman dropped to the ground and went in between the tables to avoid a face full of sugar or being splashed by drinks. He was on the verge of screaming his own head off when he eventually bumped into Cuphead’s wriggling upper half. Its hands thumped along the floor, up Mugman’s chest, and squeezed his nose.

“_Ow!_ Cuphead, what do you think you’re doing?”

“He” shrugged, then waved his hand nice and slow and crossed his arms.

“No it’s not okay! Why didn’t you stay put? This is your fault, you know.”

“He” opened and closed one hand in a chattering motion.

“I am not a blabbermouth! If you hadn’t been complaining, you would have known you were only supposed to take one pill. When Elder Kettle hears you can cause this much trouble when you’re—”

The hands immediately tugged at Mugman’s shirt and went into a pleading gesture.

“Fine, I won’t tell.” The body threw its arms in the air. “Let’s just find your head and get out of here.”

It didn’t take long to find his brother’s head wedged and currently sinking into a large cheesecake over by the wall, currently being eaten by a group of kids using the improvised food fight and chaos in front of them to their advantage. Mugman plucked the little decoration from the top and returned it to its rightful owner.

Cuphead hugged his body tight, sinking gratefully to the floor. “I never want to hear the saying ‘lose your head’ ever again.”

A rogue dessert whizzed past, nearly clipping the brothers in the face. “And I never want to hear the saying ‘piece of cake’ ever again,” Mugman joined in.

The two raced out of the messy dining hall, jumping over strewn chairs and ignoring the calls to stop by the host. They’d never been so happy to smell the salt of the ocean and be blinded by sunlight when they were in the clear. The boys plopped on an abandoned bench, catching their breath and leaning against one another.

“Thanks pal,” Cuphead panted. “Thought I was a goner back there.”

Mugman waved a hand. “It’s no problem. How’d you even get in the kitchen? It’s employees only.”

“Call it luck. How’d you know where to find me? I could’ve been anywhere.”

“Call it luck. After that scene, I’m just glad you’re feeling a whole lot better. Right?”

Cuphead crossed his arms. “Uh-uh.”

Mugman blinked in concern. “Why? What’s the matter? Is your stomach upset again?”

“Nope. My head is.” The dish briefly popped his head off his shoulders, pushed his brother in front of him, and marched forward. “It wants its straw back.”


	32. A Hare-y Situation {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have finally arrived in the Big Apple! And wouldn’t you know it, they’re already on the hunt for some celebrities.

New York City was lively and laughing and living.

The air smelt cool and fresh, and everything was moving; cars, people, taxi-cabs, even the mailboxes! Along the wide and winding avenues, hundreds of people and Toons alike boarded a tour bus with their cultural baggage − from celluloid styles to bouncing rubber hose elation, up to more livelier two-dimensional curves and the more traditional hand-drawn blurs. Many were chattering with excitement about what they’d be seeing, some in English and some communicating with just their hands and facial expressions.

On a street so busy you had to weave between the people, the bus sprang to life. Everyone was free to gaze at the creations built by those who dreamed of stadiums and theaters, ice rinks and parks with soccer pitches. Among all the high-rises and skyscrapers was Central Park, beautiful lush greenery in the middle of a silver jungle. You could grab a bite of your favorite foods at Chinatown, Little Italy, or one of the Indian restaurants on 28th Street, while Broadway and 6th Avenue and Bloomingdales flooded around the district, a go-to pitstop after a tiring day of work.

And somewhere out there, a timeless place filled with magical machines and Nathan’s hot dogs and fireworks in the summer, Coney Island was as gay and thrilling as Inkwell Isle Two.

A brilliant flash of white blinded Cuphead and shook him out of his trance. He grimaced more than he scowled at the tourist who had apparently never seen a kid with a cup for a head before. But, to make it fair, Cuphead had never seen half of the Toons occupying New York, either. The black-and-white clown, no matter his kind smile and shy wave, was giving him the creeps. Worse than when he’d first met Beppi.

“Cuphead! Cups, Cups! Look, it’s Daffy Duck!”

At Mugman’s eager shout and even more eager pointing, Cuphead rushed over to the window, both boys clamoring over Elder Kettle to see. Three men in overalls were glueing a banner to a billboard in the distance, showing arguably the three most popular Toons in the universe − Porky Pig, Daffy Duck, and Bugs Bunny − popping out from their usual orange background.

The bop on Mugman’s head was enough to make him see stars.

“You goof! I thought you actually saw him!” Cuphead snapped in disappointment. He was more of a Bugs fan himself, but wherever Daffy was, Bugs was sure to follow.

“Technically I did,” Mugman grumbled back, rubbing the sore spot. “I didn’t mean literally. Their picture’s just as good, right?”

“No. I wanna see them in real life. Now all day I’m gonna think about trying to spot them. Thanks a lot.”

“Lots of celebrities travel to the city for work,” Elder Kettle pointed out after getting Cuphead off his knees.

His eyes twinkled in hope, excitement, and anticipation. “You think we’ll spot one of them here? In New York City?”

“It’s possible, but maybe a bit unlikely.” Cuphead’s face fell. “Now don’t look so down. There’s a chance you could run into someone just as well-known.”

Cuphead’s grin returned tenfold. “So that banner’s just a start? It’s welcoming toons, letting everyone know they’re gonna be here, the whole shebang?”

“Is Mickey Mouse coming?” Mugman pushed his thumbs together, smiling bashfully at the floor. “I want a hug from Goofy. He’s my favorite.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re goofy.” Another bop to the head, this one a little lighter than before, flopped off the mug-shaped head. “Did you see any signs for Mickey and the gang?” Another bop. “Huh?”

“No. Did you see any signs for a tilt-a-whirl?”

“We’re not near a—”

As if his dome wasn’t loose enough on his shoulders, the world was a blur of all colors − just like on a tilt-a-whirl − as Mugman had his own bop to his brother’s noggin. Stilling the 360 ride, Cuphead growled silently under his breath and lunged at the blue mug, smooshing his face with his gloves while Mugman pulled at his shirt with his teeth. The wrestling match lasted five seconds as Elder Kettle pried them apart by the handle, steam almost emitting from his spout like a referee whistle. He held them still on either side of him, warning them,

“There’s plenty of room _under_ the bus if you two want to act like hooligans.”

That got them to be sitting angels fast. Aside from the excitement they had stirred up and the eyes blinking over to them in wonderment and shock, the rest of the tour on wheels went as planned. The main highlight, for the family of three anyway, shined bright when the bus stopped at a pint-sized café. Only about seven or eight on board decided to get off to either explore the streets further on foot or enter the charming cake-and-coffee shop.

The inside was humbly packed with stunning statues of classical busts, and many grownups were drinking coffee or enjoying some kind of pastry beneath the striking works of art while the few children inside made do with the white cloths on the tables until their wrists were smacked to stop it.

Cuphead and Mugman shared wide grins, rushing to the table by the highest window. There were really no such things as cafés back in Inkwell. Unless you lived in the wood and meadow areas, you couldn’t really settle down to relax and eat.

“I wanna sit by the window!”

“You sat by the window on the bus, Cuphead!”

“So? I got there first slowpoke.”

“You sat by the window on the ferry, too.”

“Did you want me to throw up on you or out in the waters?”

Elder Kettle shook his head, briefly wondered what it would be like to raise two girls instead, and took the spot for himself. “Boys, I think I’ll be sitting by the window.”

Fists already in the air, Cuphead and Mugman paused. “Aw, why?” They both pouted.

“Because I don’t need either of you tumbling and fumbling over something.”

“C’mon Elder Kettle, let me sit by the window. Please? That’s the perfect spot to see—”

Mugman gasped. “Cab Calloway!”

Cuphead just about broke his back whipping around in a chance to see the famous cat. “Where, where, _where!_”

“Oh my, it is Mister Calloway. I wasn’t aware he came here.”

“Where? I don’t see him!”

Mugman directed Cuphead where they were looking, and the latter’s toothy grin twisted upside down in disbelief at yet another false alarm. The scat singer was surrounded by a toon couple, presumably the owners, in a big black-and-white photograph hanging on the wall.

Cuphead pulled the front of Mugman’s shirt over his face. “I really oughta slug you,” he growled.

“It’s just as good as him being here!” His brother’s muffled cries said back. “He’s eaten here. Maybe at this very table! Isn’t that neat?”

“Not just Calloway.”

Cuphead followed where Elder Kettle was gazing. The walls were cluttered with photographs of lots of popular characters. Snow White, Happy Hooligan, Shirley Temple, some little girl named Alice, Charlie Chaplin, the Marx Brothers…

The still memories were endless, as was Cuphead’s stubbornness. Folding his arms tight, he practically turned into a moping statue in the time it took for his family to stop gawking at the photos, a waitress to serve them, and for Brineybeard to finish his errands so he’d be able to join the trio at the café.

He was still quiet, he was still moody, but he wasn’t stupid and was still going to eat.

“I usually smile when I eat raspberry-whip cake.”

“I usually smile when I see stars.”

Mugman rolled his eyes. “You’re going to obsess over that all day, huh?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d keep your yap shut.” Cuphead plugged his nose, exaggerating his brother’s voice. “‘Look! It’s Muff and Jeff! It’s Felix the Cat! It’s Olivia de Havilland!’”

Brineybeard’s head shot up. “Where?”

Cuphead and Mugman shrugged to each other. They really had no idea how famous the actress was, but if Brineybeard suddenly had hearts in his eyes at her name, to each his own.

Mugman wasn’t taking Cuphead’s sour attitude to heart and was just glad to be in New York. He was going to have a blast and have so many stories to bring back to his friends, and it didn’t even matter if he couldn’t hug Goofy or see Daffy Duck. He was in New York City! So what if Cuphead was being a baby right now? So what if they couldn’t have all the sweets for lunch? So what if Oswald the Lucky Rabbit was sitting ten tables away—

Mugman’s eyes went wide. He felt around for Cuphead and furiously tapped his shoulder, unable to speak proper English.

“C-Cu…C-Cuphead, Oswald. Oswald Rabbit. It’s Oswald the Rabbit!”

Cuphead, not looking, shoved another slice of cake in his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, cry wolf somewhere else pal.”

“No really, he’s sitting right over there.” Mugman went from tapping the shoulder to shaking it. “It’s him, it’s really him! He’s eating right by the window.”

“You’ll be eating a knuckle sandwich if you don’t quit—”

Mugman roughly turned him in the right direction. Sure enough, it was the Disney rabbit pulling a chair out for a pretty black cat, who bat her lashes and kissed his nose. He didn’t have time to kiss back when twelve to twenty bunny children bolted out from under their table, sprang inside from the window, or shimmied out from the waiter’s sleeves.

Even if four hundred more of them had popped out of thin air, Cuphead wouldn’t have cared. Oswald was just fifteen feet away!

“I gotta get him to sign my gloves!” Cuphead announced, flailing out his chair.

“I saw him first! I want him to teach me how to take off my hands and feet, too!” Mugman exclaimed, having tripped over his brother when he’d tried standing up.

The pair began running…in place, that is. They weren’t aware of the hold Elder Kettle had on their shorts as they still called out things they wanted the late 1920s actor to initial.

“My head! He’s gotta sign my head!”

“He’s signing my napkin first!”

“Maybe he can sign our boots!”

“If I spit up my cake, you think he’d sign that?”

Now the kettle was really considering adopting a pair of sisters. “Boys, boys, let’s not bother Mister Oswald at the moment. He may be tired and want to eat with his family,” he pointed out.

“Figured there’d be more,” Brineybeard muttered loud enough for Cuphead and Mugman to turn to him curiously. “You know how those eager rabbits _love_ to—”

A cane to the side of the head prevented having to have that kind of talk so early with the boys. Cuphead and Mugman didn’t seem to mind and only shrugged at one another before gloomily sitting back down, sneaking glances over their shoulder.

“Perhaps when he’s finished you boys can go over,” Elder Kettle suggested.

Mugman glanced over at the bunny children and shuddered. “When will that be?”

Cuphead didn’t want to find out and asked to step outside for a few minutes for some air, Mugman right on his heels. Back out in the bustling city, both let out a melodramatic sigh and leaned against the café walls.

“This stinks! We finally see a star in real life and Elder Kettle won’t let us say hi to him,” Cuphead complained under his breath.

Mugman shrugged. “He has a point. Maybe he really is tired and just wants some cake.”

“He can’t be a little less tired around his fans? I remember when Werner babysat us and he let us watch cartoons…”

“And Oswald’s cartoons were one of them, I know.” Mugman pat Cuphead’s back. “I’m pretty down, too. We may have to leave early, or Oswald and his family will, or maybe Oswald will sneak out to buy a newspaper—”

The brothers did a double take across the street, where the rabbit and a round human were exchanging nickel and paper. Once it was in his hands, Oswald seemed a little spooked as he looked left, right, behind him and even under his legs. When whatever he was on the lookout for didn’t appear, his expression brightened and he stuck his nose in the news.

Cuphead was smacking Mugman’s chest in blind admiration as Mugman himself was trying to keep his grin from spreading any further. Unable to help themselves, both let out a screech.

“_Oswald!_”

The rabbit jumped seven feet in the air, newspaper flying and arms waving. He startled so badly he landed in a nearby trash can, and his timing couldn’t have been any worse. Another rotund humanlike toon, whistling to himself and oblivious to a pair of legs kicking out the rubbish, picked up the can and tossed everything inside into the open mouth of a garbage truck.

“Sheesh…” Cuphead shook his head. “Talk about being down in the dumps.”

Mugman stared, aghast. “We gotta go help him!”

“Are you nuts? If we just up and leave, Elder Kettle’s going to kill us.”

“If we don’t rescue Oswald, his girlfriend, kids, his fans, and _Disney_ will kill us first!”

It was settled. Besides, the two had said they’d be out for a few minutes of air. What was the harm with a few more? So off they ran, tearing down the street and stepping on people’s feet and blurting out apologies or “move it or lose it” as best as they could. They tried firing peashooter shots to flatten the garbage truck’s tires, but all it did was knock painters off ladders, get dogs to chase after it and drag their owners behind them, and blast a hole in the middle of a man’s hat.

With every turn, Cuphead and Mugman narrowly missed splatting into a brick wall or running someone over. Waving and shouting for the truck to stop was pointless, as the driver thought they were kids just being kids, waved back, and sped up. The good thing was that Oswald hadn’t gotten crushed by any trash and had managed to find a safe spot at the very top. When he realized where he was, however, his eyes bugged out and he flopped backwards out of shock.

“We’ll never catch him on foot!” Mugman pointed out, he and Cuphead skidding to a stop on a wild slope downhill. “Cups, what’re we gonna do?”

Cuphead gulped, scanning for options, then a lightbulb struck. “Mugs, remember that old red wagon we used to have?”

“No…”

He soon would. Technically it wasn’t theirs and it didn’t look too old, but it was red – and that was good enough for Cuphead. He’d say sorry to the kid or give him 32-cents for a new one if he ever saw him again. Right now, slicing down the slope at unimaginable speeds, with a whooping Cuphead and a screaming teary-eyed Mugman, at least they would be able to get to the truck faster. Cuphead charged up a quick blast to propel them further and keep up their speed, laughing and pumping up his fists.

“We’re gaining on him! Look alive Mugman!”

“I’m gonna look _dead!_” Mugman shouted with his hands over his eyes.

Drawing nearer to the attached ladder, Cuphead let out a final blast behind them and grabbed one of the rungs. He snatched Mugman up by the waist, who still refused to look, and managed to haul both of them to the very top of the trash heap. When the truck lurched from an unexpected speed bump, the boys were thrown in opposite directions – Mugman into the heart of the trash, Cuphead on the brink of being flung onto the street.

_Just like climbing a tree, no biggie. Trees don’t normally have rushing pavement and cars and taxi-cabs below, no biggie._

“Are we on the truck?”

“You are pal. Gimme a hand, will you?”

Using one hand to shield his eyes and the other to grope around for his brother, Mugman hesitantly inched forward and soon felt something under his fingers. He grasped it tightly and tugged, but it barely budged. He tried a second and then a third time.

“Gosh Cups, how much cake did you eat? You gotta help me so I can help you.”

“You’re not even pulling me up!”

“Then whose hand…?” If his porcelain could shatter from sight alone, it would. Mugman stared down at a single black paw, stuck between two trash bags, and when he hesitantly pulled again, it popped out. Without a body.

“Gee, thanks for the help,” Cuphead grumbled, hoisting himself up and plugging his nose. “Definitely gonna need a bath after this. Where’s Oswald?”

Mugman limply held up the hand. “Here…”

Cuphead blinked, then smudged a hand to his face. “Aw Mugs, when I said ‘gimme a hand’, I didn’t mean literally!”

In a rather morbid sense of comedy, Mugman slapped Cuphead silly with the detached paw. “You idiot! You’re joking around and we’re too late! He’s not here! He’s…we killed Oswald the Lucky Rabbit!”

Something roughly tapped Mugman’s shoulder, but he didn’t acknowledge it as he covered one eye with his own hand and the other with Oswald’s, bursting into tears. The tap came again, followed by a hard shake. Startled, Mugman looked up to see a very much alive Oswald impatiently tapping his foot, holding his other paw out in a demanding gesture. More out of relief than being starstruck, Mugman jumped on the rabbit and crushed him in a hug.

“You’re alive! Oh, thank goodness! Oswald, we’re so so sorry, we’re just big fans and didn’t mean to frighten you, and we had to come save you after you were thrown out! Please don’t have Disney yell at us!”

At Oswald’s bewildered look, Cuphead shrugged. “Little brothers,” he explained, getting an understanding nod from the toon.

Oswald awkwardly returned the hug before reattaching his paw. He then gave a pat to Mugman’s head in thanks, then turned to Cuphead to shake hands.

“Wait ’til Elder Kettle hears about this,” he bragged to Mugman.

“Yeah, he’s gonna be so…”

An identical look of alarm froze the boys in place, and they wildly looked around at their surroundings. The truck was slowing to a stop but was much too far from the café. Cuphead immediately started babbling how long they’d be grounded while Mugman covered his eyes again. Having four hundred and twenty kids of his own, Oswald knew the feeling of getting in trouble. Holding out his paw to stop the fretting, he stuck his tongue out in concentration before spinning his ears like a helicopter rotor. Grabbing and holding tight to the brothers’ waists, he leapt into the air and started flying back the way they came.

The second Oswald’s foot hit the ground, the café doors opened and out stepped Elder Kettle.

“I was wondering how long you boys would stay out here. Come back inside now. Oh, and I see you managed to catch Mister Oswald,” he added with a smile.

Oswald nodded, shook the kettle’s hand, and playfully rapped the top of Cuphead and Mugman’s heads before two of his children hopped outside to tug him back in.

Gee, their first celebrity encounter…

“Cuphead, Mugman, what’s that smell?”

…and their first grounding in New York City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot contain my excitement for all of the sneak peeks of The Cuphead Show. Definitely going to be using that energy to churn out more (and possibly longer) chapters if I can help it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! More toon cameos coming right up! ❤️💙


	33. Boatful of Troubles {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have goofed up big time when they accidentally damage the ship to a certain corncob pipe-smoking sailor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good guess, Sam Ross!  
(And golly, would you look at the number of hits!)

Cuphead and Mugman’s most favorite thing about being in New York was how close the apartment was to the beach.

During summer the waves were said to be placid, making it ideal for surfing, and anyone could enjoy a refreshing swim or gorge on tasty snacks at the mouth watering food joints. You could doze under the sun without getting sunburned, play tag and cartwheel across the sand until your limbs popped off, and sail into the sunset. But the cup brothers couldn’t do any of that now.

Apparently saving one of Disney’s mascots wasn’t the ticket to get out of a weekend-long grounding. Elder Kettle had of course been appreciative of his boys’ bravery and good hearts, but he had continuously fumed that the two could have gotten hurt, they should have asked for an adult’s help, and they shouldn’t have been bothering Oswald in the first place.

New York City was not the place two energetic boys needed to be restricted from exploring just because of a quick joyride to save one of their favorite toons.

Cuphead, eyes drooping, lightly glared out the window. “Your turn Mugs.”

Mugman, gently smacking himself awake, lazily looked down. “I spy with my little eye…”

”The shoe shiner guy down the street.”

“Yeah. Your turn.” Silence met the unexpected pause of the 42nd round of the game. “Cuphead?”

“I spy with my little eye two brothers who are about to go stir crazy if they don’t leave. Unbelievable! How come we have to see all of this cool stuff from the window when we should be out exploring it for ourselves?”

“Not so easy when we’re grounded.”

“It’s not fair! We were heroes and Elder Kettle knows it.” Cuphead slumped against the wall and crossed his arms. “If it wasn’t for us, Oswald wouldn’t have gotten back to the café safe in time.”

“Neither would we if it wasn’t for Oswald.” Mugman hugged his brother close by the shoulder. “Chin up buddy. We won’t be grounded forever. Let’s play checkers. You can get the red pieces.”

Cuphead shook his head as Mugman fetched the checkerboard from the closet. “We need fresh air, Mugman. Elder Kettle is really—”

“—exhausted from the trip and wouldn’t even hear us sneaking out.”

The faint curve to his mouth, the way one of his dimples crinkled, and how perfectly aligned his teeth were − oh, Cuphead was smiling a smile with a twist to it. Mugman turned at the silence and smudged the board over his eyes before the mischievous attitude could spread.

“Cuphead, no.”

“Five bucks says he won’t even miss us,” Cuphead wagered with a smirk, rocking on the heels of his boots.

“The pocket lint in your shorts says he’ll use you as his new walking cane when he catches us,” Mugman sarcastically wagered back.

With an unbothered shrug, Cuphead left the shared room and crossed the hall, Mugman hesitantly on his tail, into Elder Kettle’s room. Everything had been neatly unpacked and looked like a slighter newer version of his bedroom back on their woodland property. Under the indigo covers the kettle lay, tiny puffs of steam occasionally rising from his spout.

“Look at him. He’s plum tuckered out,” Cuphead whispered with a grin. He made his way in, linking his arms behind his back. “Watch. Hey Elder Kettle?” Not a word. “What’s that? You’ll be asleep all day and we should go out and not disturb you?” No given yes, but no given no.

Cuphead shot Mugman a smug look over his shoulder, then pushing his luck, blurted out in a final rapid of succession, “Mugman and I won’t stay out past three o’clock at Rockaway Beach, but we can’t make any promises so you can rest assured we’ll be fine and won’t need an adult.”

Cuphead strolled past an astonished Mugman and pushed his dropped jaw up for him on his way out. “Easy as pie,” he gloated.

A spluttering Mugman followed him to the door. “W-what’s the matter with you? Are you insane? And why’d you use my name first? He could’ve woken up!”

“Don’t be a jitterbug, and don’t even think about chickening out and telling,” Cuphead warned sharply, poking Mugman in the chest. “We deserve a trip to the beach by now. We’ll stay for a couple minutes, swim around, and be back before Elder Kettle wakes up.”

Mugman muttered something under his breath, but when given a blinking angel pout by Cuphead, he smudged a hand over his eye. “Fine.”

In a fit of happiness, Cuphead gave Mugman a sloppy kiss, grabbed his wrist, and dashed out the door, heading south for the famous beach and arriving in half the time it would take someone on foot. It was a blaze of parasols, sunbathers and picnic baskets, with hot colors to match the burning underfoot. With every step the sand shifted and the cups’ grins grew. Waves rolled, spreading themselves like fine lace over the shore after they crashed in their soft way. There was nothing noisy about them, but they did have a universal sound:

Childhood summer.

First item of business was trying out this delicacy called a ‘hot dog’ that some Nathan fella got to brag about, and the brothers were in extreme luck. Shaded by umbrellas and smoke at their ankles, three to five partners were grilling the meat and freely handing them out to whoever wanted a quick bite on the go.

“Bet I can eat more than you,” Cuphead challenged.

“Bet you can’t,” Mugman challenged back.

The single grilled link was served on toasted rye or soft white bread, some with kosher dill pickles, chopped onions, or Swiss cheese. Some were walloped with ketchup, others brown mustard, chili beans, or relish. It wasn’t the best bet Mugman had agreed to, but Cuphead seemed to have forgotten it the second he bit into his hot dog. He had to have scarfed down at least twenty more in ten minutes before he and Mugman were chased off by an impatient family of six.

Both had their own well-deserved nap on the sand, enjoying the warm grains on their back but not so much in a pair of shorts. If Cuphead hadn’t been up to his lack of a neck in sand, courtesy of a giggling Mugman, he would have slugged him. Speaking of water, high tide eventually splashed in, and without hesitation Cuphead stripped off his boots and shirt and plunged into the underwater excitement right after Mugman.

They swam as far out as they could go, spitting out water like dolphins and laughing whenever the waves tumbled over. Every inch of glass hummed with adrenaline, and before he knew it, Cuphead was right above the waves with Mugman on his shoulders. They were going so fast it felt like the wind was flying with them. They were going so fast they felt they would sprout wings at any given moment.

They were going so fast they didn’t see the boat coming.

The crash that boomed over the ocean was as good as thunder, and on the very next impact the mast didn’t simply crack. It flipped, cartwheeling across the early summer waters. Cuphead and Mugman bounced high and tumbled low, and after a moment of silence the ship trembled starboard and sank a good three feet. The pair hauled it back to dry land, wincing at the moderately-sized sailboat poking halfway out the water in an awkward sideways stance.

Mugman’s palms were all over his face. “Oh…o-oh gosh, oh my, what did we do?”

Cuphead whistled low, shielding his eyes to get better focus. “How are we supposed to leave a note?”

The ship suddenly turned into a tourist attraction, with beachgoers clamoring forward, murmuring and pointing at the still-sinking vessel. Everything was incredibly puzzling, but the shout of an enraged man quickly put the pieces in their correct spots.

A small but burly fellow with the biggest biceps the boys had ever seen didn’t need to push through the crowd to get through; everyone parted like the sea. Cuphead and Mugman watched as the man stared, hands on hips, at the ruined boat. The smoke from his pipe gradually went from relaxed clouds to angry X’s, and he slowly began turning red from the neck up.

“That’s not his boat,” Cuphead whispered to a trembling Mugman.

The sailor slowly stormed up and down. “When I find me the lad who done this…”

“It can’t be his boat Mugs, relax.”

“I’m gonna make ’im cry like an infink…”

Tiptoeing in reverse, Cuphead grabbed an abandoned towel and held it out. “W-we’ll catch our death of cold, d-dry off pal.”

“Hold ’im up so he’ll look me in the eye…”

The pair had to have hidden behind five oblivious sunbathers each time the man turned around, clenching and unclenching those murderous fists. He was huffing and puffing bigger X’s out his pipe and made half the beach, including Cuphead and Mugman, jump at his enraged bellow:

“_And wring his neck!_”

Holding onto one another and shaking in place, Mugman whispered, “I think that’s his boat.”

Cuphead knew it would be easy to sneak off and book it to the apartment, but pride, guilt, and the fear of being spotted were playing an intense three-way tug-of-war in his heart. But they couldn’t stay for too long; Elder Kettle would wake up soon, and if he was still sleeping at that point, Brineybeard would definitely waltz in for a checkup, see the boys gone, and wake the kettle himself.

The only one good thing about getting in a jam as messy as this was that it was less stressful with another head to think.

Cuphead gulped, seeing someone from the press had arrived. He set off his flash bulb on his camera towards the boat while another inched up to the muscle-bound man still fuming, microphone in hand.

“Golly, was what we did really newsworthy?” Mugman muttered.

“Unless that ship had gold on it or was worth $500, nowhere near it,” Cuphead replied, crossing his arms. “Alright, let’s think − we leave, it’s too suspicious. We stay, we’re toast. We tell the truth, we get clobbered. We lie…”

“How are we gonna lie our way out of this? ‘Sorry mister, my brother and I just tripped fifty times on your ship and sunk it ‘cause we felt like it.’”

Cuphead went from sulking to thinking to struck with inspiration. “That’s it! Mugman, you’re a genius!”

Any other situation and Mugman would have beamed at the compliment, but when Cuphead leaned over to whisper the idea he had cooking, he would rather make a run for it. Over with the sailor of a long and rich history since 1929, Popeye’s squinting (or entirely missing) right eye kept glowering out at his sunken _Lady Olive_. No one dared to get close to him, and the more innocent vacationers didn’t dare to leave the beach. It was practically a crime scene and everyone was a suspect. He briefly took his pipe from his teeth and turned at a shrill little noise approaching him.

A little fella in damp red shorts and a black shirt went from strolling to skipping along the sand, whistling out a merry melody and hopping higher with each note. He stopped beside the sailor and gazed out at the waters.

“Gee, talk about a sorry sight. I bet the fella who did that was whizzed on adventure or somethin’ else.” He shook his head, _tsk_ing under his breath. “She’s got nothin’ but hope to live on now.”

Pipe back in his mouth, Popeye slowly glared. “Oh?”

“It takes a special kind of brute to knock half a mast off and not needing the fore sail raised for more damage.”

Popeye jumped and glanced down to his opposite side at a second voice, seeing an identical dish-themed tyke in similar fashion, just with blue shorts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Bet you’d like to meet the flying saucer that conked the thing into oblivion.”

The cup stuck out his hand to the mug to shake. “How do you do?”

“Fine, thanks. How do I do what?”

“I’m Mister Flying Saucer.”

Two pairs of eyes widened; Mugman’s in theatrical shock, Popeye’s in genuine surprise. Cuphead’s expression remained neutral as he held onto the mug’s hand while the other lazily rested in his pocket. After three beats of silence, Mugman’s ‘shock’ wore off and he ground his teeth.

“What’re you talking about? Don’t steal credit where credit’s due!”

“What’re _you_ talking up?”

Mugman grabbed the pocketed hand and shook. “Mister Flying Saucer Sr., at your service.”

“_You?_” Cuphead doubled over in hysterics, poking the nose of someone who wouldn’t hurt a fly. “Whaddya think this is? A comedy special? You couldn’t make a dent in a milk carton!”

“Oh, and you’ve got brute strength harboring up that makes all sailors weep?” Mugman fired a peashooter shot centimeters from his brother’s head, making Popeye jump again. “Bub?”

Cuphead slowly glared and fired two shots at Mugman’s feet. “Yeah, wanna see punk?”

“Put ’em up pal!” 

“H-hold it you two!” If someone could make Popeye stutter, they were either very crafty or very foolish. He didn’t need to see two kids scuffling with miniature Tommy guns at their fingertips and promptly held them up by their handles. “Are you tellin’ me each of you had somethin’ to do with sinking my _Lady Olive_?”

“Maybe we did, maybe we didn’t,” Cuphead spat, crossing his arms.

“You don’t wanna mess with us fella. We’re dangerous,” Mugman added. His eyes suddenly got raw with emotion. “But even the most dangerous goons have the gall to apologize once in a while for their actions, and if they don’t they’ll feel extremely guilty and won’t be able to sleep and I’ll start rusting up and _please don’t keelhaul us Mister!_”

“Mugman!”

“It was us! We did it! We’re grounded and snuck out for only a minute but got carried away, and the water! Gosh, the water was too strong and threw us, and we went crashing into your ship. We wanted to admit that we did it but try and scare you away from clobbering us, but it was an accident, honest, please don’t throttle me!”

“Yo—” Popeye’s grip on each handle tightened, and both dishes covered their eyes, ready for impact. “_You two_ did that to my… _Bwa ha ha ha!_”

As quickly as Mugman let the cat out of the bag, his and Cuphead’s eyes flew open. They glanced at one another, then back to the laughing sailor close to tears. He doubled over and dropped the confused brothers, slamming his fist into the sand.

“Oh, that trusty sailing vessel… I’ve taken so many adventures throughout my life on it. It’s been wrecked, rebuilt and renamed countless times during my many voyages.” Somewhat sober from his laughing splurge, Popeye brought the boys in close and roughly pat them on the shoulder. “I thought some nasty ship robber or horde of elephinks jumped aboard. I can’t imagine it’d be a pair of cola-guzzling tots.”

While Mugman had a mixture of bewilderment and relief in his eyes, Cuphead stared in pure disbelief. “Huh?” The latter wheezed out.

“You boys… Good show, what a good show. _Put ’em up!_” At Popeye’s mere repeat of what had been said, the two jumped and clunked heads together to hold onto one another. “That was good, really good. I can always repair my beautiful girl. I’ll bet whoever done it was too scared to make a peep.”

Cuphead pushed Mugman off of him and into the sand. “Sir, we actually—”

“You boys find your folks now and be good.” With one final pat on the head for each, the now cooled off Popeye headed off. “We wouldn’t want a big accident happening unsupervised!”

Still in disbelief of telling the truth and practically being laughed at for not being able to do that kind of damage to a ship, Cuphead rolled up his sleeve and stalked after the man. Mugman grabbed his handle, too beat to talk him out of it, and instead dragged him off the sand, having to listen to him screaming:

“Come back here! We really did it! We destroyed the boat! No elephinks, no ship robber! Us! _Us!_”


	34. To Coney Island! {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would a summer in New York be without a trip to Coney Island?

Coney Island. The summer destination spot for one and all. It wasn’t necessarily a bay beach; there was ocean, sure, but it was restricted in the bay and the small waves weren’t very clear and fun. But if someone wasn’t there for a dip in the sun-speckled sea, on a weekend summer day it was truly a spot not to miss.

Across the water Cuphead and Mugman could see the outline of the rides, the swirling loops of the Cyclone coaster, and the tall towers of the Parachute Drop. There was Nathan’s and Nedick’s, and an actual penny arcade. Elder Kettle said he found this the most nostalgic back in his astounding days, as most amusements were a nickel, but to watch a “flip” movie for a penny now was unheard of.

Passing the fishing boats returning from their day on the ocean, Brineybeard pointed out the best restaurants for clams, oysters, and lobster, which elicited a chorus of ‘Ewwwws’ from his two little landlubbers. He also told the bundled dishes stories of the Mermaid parade he once had the delight of attending, which Cuphead and Mugman of course assumed featured real mermaids.

Then they saw it up ahead − Coney Island Amusement Park. They could finally see the wonderland up close. It was better than the television commercials, that was for sure! While Brineybeard and Elder Kettle staked out a place under the boardwalk, so long as they were within eyesight and tried not to waste all their money, Cuphead and Mugman were free to run wild.

A twinkle in his eye and a hand gripped to his brother’s handle to turn him the right way, Cuphead exclaimed, “Mugman, look!”

The Cyclone’s track went up steeply to a high point and dropped into a hair-raising dive, the 60-miles-per-hour speed taking the loaded cars around two steep slopes and a higher drop at the end before coming to a halt. With every dip and turn, there were hands in the air, tears in eyes and bugs in teeth, and sitting right in the front, the brothers’ joyous screams bounced along the park.

In the center of the fairgrounds, where picnic tables and benches dotted around, the duo munched on the pinks and blues of the soft cotton candy sugar that dissolved on the tongue − sweeter than sweet and sticking to the teeth better than glue − paired with the freshly popped and teeth-rotting kettle corn.

The B&B Carousell was a delightfully odd two-in-one game, where if their reflexes were fast enough and their eye was sharp enough, kids could toss rings out across the poles and win a prize once the ride came to a stop. Brass and gold poles along the gateway counted for five and ten points respectively, and Cuphead never missed a ring on the way around atop his shared horse.

A couple of times he got the gold, and in the end he won him and Mugman a bag of marbles.

Returning to the eating grounds, ice creams wobbled over cones and dripped down the boys’ gloves as they melted. Some of the turkey legs were too thick to chew with their mouths closed, the caramel cubes and candy buttons were a mouthful, and taffy was a literal stretch. Not that Cuphead and Mugman were concerned about how they looked.

They got a bang out of being on one of the highest swinging seats on the Wonder Wheel. It was like sitting in Elder Kettle’s rocking chair but with a better view, and being left high in the air with the seat constantly rocking. Though the speed couldn’t compare with the rollercoasters, the wheel circled with enough fervor to get the pair whooping and forgetting to hold onto the bars.

Apple cinnamon, blackberry, cherry or pecan… Whatever the flavor, it brought back memories of winter evenings of the rare household dessert and the annual homemade treat in the summertime. But rather than being humbly indulged on a Sunday dinner, the baked dishes were scarfed down by Mugman while a plateful of corn dogs and Nathan’s hot dogs was down Cuphead’s throat in seconds.

Teenagers and younger children stumbled, legs wobbling and eyes swirling, constantly looking back at the 250-foot steel parachute tower. In the two-person canvas seat, Cuphead and Mugman were already shouting in anticipation on the massively tall ride. Below them, bursts of applause and encouragement from onlookers grew fainter and the ground under their boots blurred. It was as if the Parachute Drop was teasing everyone and holding its breath when it jerked to a stop for five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds.

“Mugman?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“This was a mistake.”

The steep plummet returning to the fairgrounds was fast and furious, pushing the two’s faces against their seats and stretching out their cheeks that let out an unbroken trail of spit above their high-pitched wails. Their stomachs dropped like a rock and their straws violently leapt in place once the parachute and shock absorbers at the bottom slowed their descent.

Even on the ground again, Cuphead and Mugman felt like they were hurtling through outer space, and their grins wavered all the while their eyeballs spun around their heads. There were practically bunny hops with each step and wood knocking against elbows as they tumbled and spun towards the one thing on the eating grounds they absolutely had to have.

A trash bin. Every single goodie and snack from earlier, one by one, made a gross reappearance. But the Parachute Drop was worth it, as was The Cyclone (and the truly wonderful classic rollercoaster just needed a second chance).

Mugman adored the bumper cars, but boy was he a maniac driver. It was so much fun for his little heart; with the lack of harnesses and competitive racers in the pit, it was amazing nobody got whiplash. Cuphead was in paradise when he stumbled upon the skee-ball machine. The game was made for him and he had a blast showing off for his little bro, as well as the small audience he managed to gather with his newfound skills − underhand and overhand throws, spinning the ball around his rim, or tosses with his eyes closed or under his legs.

He would’ve stayed all night just to have an unbeatable hi-score for the next wannabe had Elder Kettle and Brineybeard not called out how it was past dinnertime. But instead of taking a cab back to the apartment for a meal like the pair expected, the adults surprised them with whatever they desired inside Totonno’s Pizzeria, which was not too far a distance from the amusement park.

And how lucky they were!

A Saturday night fireworks shower immediately sprayed over the ocean, the brilliant soaring vermillion, golden, and acid green flares bouncing their reflections off the windows. Cuphead, grinning wide, enjoyed the thrill of shuddering at the sudden bangs over the pizza pies and Mugman, smiling warmly at the surprised gasps of the children behind their booth, held tightly onto Elder Kettle’s hand.

The hot sparks in the cool evening air soared and fizzled above the rides and said hi to the full moon, ending with one final _pop!_ before sizzling to a quiet stop. Out on the waters, a cacophony of fog horns blared from what seemed like a hundred boats unseen in the dark.

The fiery colors of Coney Island ignited the otherwise dark and cloud-scattered sky, filling the air with twice as much noise than the firework extravaganza. There was a noticeable lull on the ride home, but past their slumped figures and sleeping eyes, Cuphead and Mugman were reliving the day all over again − sitting right at the front on the incredible Cyclone.


	35. King in Queens {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an incident at the diner, Cuphead and Mugman are forced to face the music…and it’s not half bad.

Chad and Jared’s started life as a soda fountain attached to a dairy store in the 1920s.

It was an airy, open room with lots of chrome and booths in red vinyl around the outside, and every square foot of space was occupied by something. Tables, chairs, the serving counter, the tiny galley-style kitchen. The menu was classic diner − chicken stew, meatballs, eggs, pancakes, carrots and peas, and liverwurst. Even when business had lagged from The Great Depression, it was often easy to hear the sound, if not the distinct voices, of the cooks or patrons at the far end keeping the morale up.

A decade later and very busy along the neighborhood joints, Chad and Jared’s was still a proud owner of customers coming and going, talk and laughter, servers calling out orders, and the view that came with lunch rush. Cuphead breathed in the hot grease and cigarette smoke in the air.

“Smell that Mugman? The sweat and tears over a hot stove. All that code talk for the butchers, bakers and candlestick makers, and elbow grease so high and grimy you can barely stand the stench.” He breathed in deeper. “It’s wonderful. We’re back in the Roaring Twenties!”

Cuphead’s ecstatic grin was a stark contrast to Mugman’s nonchalant skimming of a menu.

“That’s nice,” the latter commented.

“Can you at least sound like you’re happy to be here? I mean, we’re walking on historical linoleum here.” Cuphead hooked an arm around his brother’s shoulders, pulling him to the side and gesturing out with grandeur. “George Speck coulda cooked right through those very doors. Betty Boop may have been on a date with Bimbo over there sharing an ice cream soda.” He hoisted himself on the counter and held up the ashtray. “This could’ve been one of Fred Astaire’s cigarette butts!”

Mugman flapped open the menu, reading to avoid another lengthy spiel rather than being interested in what the chef’s recommendations were. Cuphead’s excitement dropped like a hot potato.

“_Bah_, the youth nowadays don’t appreciate culture,” he grumbled.

“You’re just a year older than me.”

“And six months.”

Mugman rolled his eyes and folded the menu back in its slot. “How about we focus on getting the order and then you can tell me how much more you know about a diner that came out before you were even born?”

“Not with that attitude I won’t.”

Cuphead fit himself into a corner, arms across his chest as he waited for the ding of the bell and the food handoff meant for them. Well, technically for Brineybeard, but he would understand if a few items went missing after a long bus ride back.

Mugman finally got the bagged contents and joined him by the wall. “Don’t tell me,” he started when Cuphead eyed the bag curiously, “in this very bag, Mickey Mouse could’ve ordered ground beef and coleslaw.”

Cuphead shoved him away. “Laugh it up if you want, but I’m taking this place seriously. It’s amazing we’re even standing here, and I’m glad Elder Kettle trusted us to run an errand on our own and not goof off.” He held out a hand. “Now gimme a nickel.”

“Why?”

“I need some candy.”

“But didn’t you just say…”

“Never mind, I think I found one.”

Cuphead plucked the coin out of his pocket and deposited it into the slot of a glass-fronted candy cabinet, cranking the wheel and watching the tiny bucket-jaws swing down, close over a piece of bubblegum, rise, and drop it into a chute where it could be retrieved. He heard it clank, but didn’t see it roll out. He jammed his finger into the slot, spun the wheel again, and jiggled and kicked the whole cabinet.

“On second thought, I think I’ll take half of your ten cents now.”

“You can’t. It’s a whole quarter, and don’t even think about it! It’s just enough for the bus back to the apartment.”

Cuphead waved a hand. “That’s not too far.”

Mugman crossed his arms. “It’s miles from here.”

“The air’ll do us some good.”

“It’s almost 93-degrees.”

“We can walk.”

“We can _walk!_”

“Glad you see it my way pal!”

Cuphead clapped Mugman’s back with one hand and took the bigger coin out of his pocket with the other. “Relax, we’ll just get a taxi-cab,” he proposed, leaning on the wheel as candy landed in his palm. “I heard those aren’t too expensive.” Another sweet tumbled down the chute. “See? One for each of us!”

A third came out. A fourth one bumped it to the floor. A fifth one came straight after.

The claw suddenly began acting out, trembling in place and clamping down on more candy than it could handle. Mugman pulled Cuphead away from the cabinet, but the weight of the treats had already made the claw snap off the hook and the momentum of it plummeting into the pool of sugar pressured everything in front of the slot. In twos and threes, the cabinet threw out candy into the dining area.

Waiters slipped and orders flew over customers’ heads, narrowly missing faces. Two businessmen’s pants were stained with hot coffee so badly that they didn’t even think and barreled out the windows, hollering down the street. One of the orders flew directly into a toon’s mouth, stretching out the shape of their head to resemble the meal − plate, toothpick and all.

The sound of crashing plates could rival thunder, the shaking of the floor as everyone tried to stampede outside was worse than an earthquake, and the silence that followed once the last one had left and all that remained was the disoriented staff and one heck of a mess to clean…

“At least it wasn’t pie?” Cuphead tried to joke at the sharp look Mugman gave him. “Well it was your twenty-five cents that did this!”

“_My_ twenty-five cents? You were the one who needed candy so badly!”

“You coulda talked me out of it!”

“That money was for the bus, the apartment’s miles from here, it’s 93-degrees out, we couldn’t walk.”

“Now he tells me.”

Two burly hands yanked the dishes off the floor and held them close to a fuming buffalo. In his eyes were murder and he was huffing steam through his ringed nostrils and clenching his teeth so tightly, the fella was going to have to spend the night with his dentist.

With a meek little wave, Mugman reached for something that had fallen in his shirt. “Gobstopper?”

The presumed manager plopped the brothers on the floor and pointed at the mess they had unintentionally caused, then to a door marked ‘Employees Only’.

“I’ll handle this, little bro.” Cuphead held a hand out to stop the buffalo from advancing any further, causing him to take a few steps back as he took a few steps forward. “Alright buddy, I’ll level with ya − this was a bad way to beat the lunch rush. But surely you don’t think us two kids are able to replicate the esteem and endowments that you’ve all put into this place, do you?”

The buffalo moved to speak, seemed to consider, then shook his head.

“I didn’t think so! Why, you should be ashamed to think that me and my brother here have the capabilities of controlling the behind-the-scenes magic your cooks and waiters can do.”

The buffalo, crossing his arms, hesitantly nodded.

“Swell! So you don’t need us around after all. You wouldn’t have any use for us anyhow.”

The large animal, after taking another moment to consider, rubbed his chin slowly just as an even slower smirk stretched his mouth. There was one thing the little rascals were capable of, he thought to himself. No one could bundle it up.

So to speak.

Out in the very back, very cramped, and very smelly back alley, Chad and Jared’s had two new personal trash collectors.

“Boy, he sure didn’t have any use for a couple of chums like us alright,” Mugman spat bitterly as he hauled a trash bag into the dumpster.

Cuphead groaned as he dumped a cardboard box into another. “Okay, maybe I shoulda used some different words.”

“Or no words at all! Do you know what Elder Kettle’s gonna say when he finds out _why_ we couldn’t take the bus home?”

“Relax. He’s not gonna hear a word about any of this.” Cuphead tossed another bag and hooked his arm back around his brother. “Once we’re done here, we’ll grab our order, sneak a little loose change out of that telephone booth inside, and take the next bus. Whaddya say?”

Mugman stared for a long minute, then slowly unhooked the arm off his shoulders. “It stinks.”

“C’mon Mugs, we gotta think of something. Elder Kettle will get real suspicious if we don’t show up.”

Cuphead started stacking his thoughts until they tumbled, mumbling about this and that, then he snapped his fingers.

“Oh! We could try…wait, that’s illegal.” He glanced to the side just in time to watch Mugman struggle with a bag five times his size. The clap on the rear scared the latter senseless. “No, no, you’re goin’ about that all wrong.”

“How else am I supposed to throw this away?”

“Watch and learn.”

Pushing him aside, Cuphead started gathering all sorts of odds and ends − empty soup cans, soda bottles, some cardboard boxes, and one big thing of half-dried paint in a can.

Mugman tilted his head to the side. “What is it?”

Cuphead shoved his hands in his pocket and joined his side. “Modern technology. See, you put the trash bag there, throw something heavier on that end right there, and it’ll launch it right into the dumpster!”

“So what’re we gonna use as the weight?”

Cuphead started to speak, narrowed his eyes, then dropped his smug grin. “Any chance you could sit on…” He held up his hands the second Mugman glared. “Well if you’re gonna get so huffy about it, why don’t we try and blast the opposite end? The force will get it somewhere.”

“You better be right,” Mugman muttered, climbing onto one of the closed dumpsters alongside him. “Cuphead, are you really sure about this?”

“Mugman, please, have I ever steered you wrong before?”

The buffalo from earlier couldn’t have chosen a worse time to check on his new workers. He opened the backdoor, still looking a bit gruff but not as burnt up as earlier, mouth open to call out if they needed a break. Faster than a meteor shower, rotten food and dented cans splattered all over him in one hit. The only thing uncovered were his wide eyes.

Beside a petrified-looking Mugman, Cuphead rubbed his chin. “Think we shoulda used a little less gun powder?” He muttered, holding up his still sizzling finger.

Speaking of sizzling, the buffalo’s temper boiled over for a second round as he wiped the muck off his face and stomped forward, clenching and unclenching his fists as his chest heaved.

“I got this.” Clearing his throat, Cuphead hopped off the dumpster. “Alright pal, I can’t lie − this isn’t exactly the way regular garbage boys handle taking out the trash. But there’s been a grim mistake if you honestly believe us two innocent children are capable of upholding this place’s sanitary requirements just like that.”

There was no hesitation this time in the buffalo’s movements. A puff of steam escaped his nostrils, growing bigger with each word out of the cup’s mouth.

“Exactly! I’d be steamed, too, knowing the error of my ways. To think me and my little brother could ever come close to guaranteeing the squeaky clean pride of Chad and Jared’s on our first day. For shame sir.”

The buffalo had already grabbed Mugman while Cuphead rambled and finally picked the latter up, heading for the back exit.

Cuphead reached out to nudge his brother. “See? He’s turnin’ us loose. Everything’s turning out right as rain.”

The only loose thing being turned was the faucet of a sink. The boys had finally discovered what lay behind the ‘Employees Only’ door, and the new environment was certainly sanitary. And soapy.

“Cuphead,” Mugman began, drying off the thirtieth plate.

“Yeah?” He asked, sinking his gloveless hands into the lukewarm dishwater.

“Never write for the Weather Bureau.”

Cuphead rolled his eyes and scrubbed off a bowl that refused to become stainless. Mugman gripped another stack of at least twelve plates to place on the table behind them to sort out later, making no hurry to return to the drying station and run the towel over the next dish he was handed. Cuphead popped the crick out of his back and turned to gather the next set of dirty plates − all twelve of them.

Mugman whistled out a tired, flat note. “Gee, who knew a diner could have this many dishes?”

“That big oaf must’ve taken other dirty dishes from other diners just for kicks,” Cuphead grumbled, giving the door a nasty look. “At least with Elder Kettle all we have to do is scrape and stack them.”

“Yeah…” Mugman shuddered. “He must be past worried by now. I wonder how long we’ve been here.”

“Too long. Ooh, the nerve of that guy, forcing us to work when Chad and Jared’s has a fixed candy machine. He’s nuts!”

“Yeah, all kinds of nuts when one of those kids assaulted the candy cabinet and refused to keep his big mouth shut twice already.”

“Hey, that thing with the garbage shoulda worked.”

“Oh, it ‘_shoulda worked_’, huh? It got us into work, that’s for sure!”

“What’re you riled up for? It got us out from stinkin’ up the place. Literally. I thought you’d be grateful—”

“_Grateful!_” Mugman slammed the towel down. “All I wanted to do was get this one errand for Elder Kettle done and then go home to watch television with you.”

“We can still do that. We’ll just tell him…” Cuphead absentmindedly shrugged, handing the double cleaned dishes for Mugman to dry again. “I mean, what’s the harm if we say that there was a, uh… I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Mugman chuckled sarcastically. “Swell. I can’t wait to find out which job we’ll do next. Maybe we’ll bus the tables or cook for a change.”

The tiniest of pouts puffed up the side of Cuphead’s mouth as he distracted himself by scrubbing another bowl, but Mugman’s frustration at the situation he had put the both of them in was catching. He rubbed his eyes with his arm, blinking hard around the burning sensation and handed over the dish walloped in soap.

Mugman’s conscience wouldn’t allow him to hold that long of a grudge for something so silly, especially seeing his older brother down. “Hey, don’t cry, okay? I’m not mad at you.”

“I’m not crying. I got soap in my eye.” Cuphead scrubbed them with a discarded cloth. “But I am really sorry for all of this. I shoulda listened to you, about the bus fare and just leaving when we should have. I thought we could skate around this, but that hard head… Sheesh, he’s earned his dues.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes again. “Can you forgive me?”

Mugman gave him a good natured rap on the head. “What are pals for?”

Cuphead hugged him close. “Now that’s more like it! Come on buddy, let’s get these all washed, ask for a raise,” he jokingly added, “and call it a day. I’ll go out and ask for more towels.”

He strode for one of the swinging doors, whistling gaily to himself, and in good spirits booted it open. A crash and muffled ‘_ouch!_’ sounded from the other side.

“Mugs… I think one of the positions for a busboy just opened.”

“It’s because you used the ‘in’ door.” Mugman hurried over and pushed open the correct door to check on whoever was injured, receiving a similar crash and ‘_augh!_’ “Guess I just opened the other one.”

While the workers could walk free with knots on their heads, Cuphead and Mugman were sure going to be getting knots somewhere else even when Cuphead was able to get a phone call to the apartment and explain what was going on. Mugman jumped in to say how he was equally involved when he could hear the yelling from the private telephone booth all the way in the kitchen. The boiling kettle would be on his way, but the consequences after the boys’ shift were up to interpretation.

“I wouldn’t even care if we got grounded for a year,” Cuphead complained while clearing off a table. He sighed and slid into the empty seat for a second. “History aside, I’m sick of this place.”

Mugman wiped the surface clean and sat across from him, resting his head in his palms. “I wouldn’t even care if we got spanked. If that was his warning on the telephone, I’m not looking forward to the final straw in person.”

“Was it really our fault those showoffs wanted to be all fancy and balance forty dishes on their heads?”

“At least the lunch rush is back. Everyone loves the food here so much, it’ll take longer for them to want to leave and less time for us to be able to clean.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

After their little union break, the two begrudgingly headed for the larger part of the dining area where the tables and chairs were usually spread into a circle. They had been stacked and moved elsewhere, but the mess on the floor decided to stick around. On all fours the boys scrubbed soda stains as hard and as fast as they could, moving their washcloths over other things − the walls, condiment bottles, their own shorts − just for the heck of it. Cuphead’s cloth eventually started shining someone’s shoes.

“I’m so sorry about that, sir!”

“No worries little man.” The gent behind a newspaper flipped a quarter into his palm and winked. “I planned on getting ’em shined by tonight.”

The money clattered to the ground as Cuphead stared wide-eyed and crawled backwards, shaking Mugman’s arm and sputtering like a broken automobile engine.

“Mu-Mu…Mug…_Mugman_.” He pointed as the man started walking off. “Calloway. It’s Cab Calloway.”

And this time the famous cat’s toothy grin was not surrounded by a toon couple in a big black-and-white photograph hanging on the wall. It was the real deal, he was in the flesh, and boy was it exciting! It took a solid minute for the cups to get over the initial excitement of seeing him, then a couple more to shake off the shyness and for them to start pushing one another in the front, whispering “you go first”.

It was Mugman who lost and stumbled forward. “Uh, Mister Calloway?” He waved when the man stopped. “Hi. Uh, my brother and I here − he’s Cuphead, I’m Mugman − um, we just wanted to say…” When his mouth started malfunctioning, Cuphead elbowed him hard in the side. “Uh, r-roast beef or veal?”

“Mugs, we’re not waiters for cryin’ out loud! Let me handle this.” Cuphead coughed into his fist, stepping in front of Calloway. “Sir.”

Calloway chuckled. “Yes?”

“You’re my jazz hero!” He hugged Calloway’s pants leg. “Our jazz hero!”

Mugman hugged the other leg. “We’ve listened to all of your songs on our phonograph since we were little. We still do, and we just love you!”

“If you ever came to put on a concert on Inkwell Isle, I wouldn’t listen to another thing of music except yours!”

Calloway showed his pearly whites and hugged his fans closer. “That’s incredibly sweet of you, Cuphead and Mugman. I wish we could talk a little longer, but the boys’ll be here any minute to help me with a little number I promised the diner last week—”

“Could we−!” Cuphead cleared his throat. “Uh, say Calloway, do you think it could be possible for me and my brother to maybe, you know, lend you a hand while you’re on the floor?”

Calloway looked between the pair, rubbing his chin. “Well, I dunno boys. Can ya really promise me you can swing red-hot?”

As red-hot as the hoochie-coocher Minnie the Moocher. There was no way in Inkwell Hell they would pass up a chance to sing and dance with Cab Calloway. From spatting brothers to garbage boys, to washing dishes and then bussing tables, Cuphead and Mugman only had one thing to say about the fantastic day they had gone through:

_“Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi!”_


	36. An Inkling {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Cuphead and Mugman’s last day in New York City, but they still have to meet their most favorite television toon before they leave.

_“You did WHAT with the money!?”_

Cuphead and Mugman kept their eyes narrowed in expert concentration, not wanting to blink and miss a flash of the action on the television. Four square corners adorned a nostalgic black-and white-storyboard, every minute pure escapism that tickled the boys’ love of all things cartoon, of all things Bendy.

A wooden _thwap_ effect played offscreen and into view the famous devil came, stumbling as if he wasn’t entirely committed to the idea of falling. Shaking his head of stars, he puffed out his chest and returned to the rotund cartoon man, who had the nerve to shout…

“Lunch is ready!”

Hardly a thing could be a deterrent from looking away from the moving pictures on screen, and Cuphead and Mugman continued to watch, comfortable on their bellies and socked feet lolling behind them.

Elder Kettle peered inside the den. “Boys, didn’t you hear me?” He caught sight of them all but superglued to the tiny box and chuckled. “Oh, pardon me. I see your program is still on.” He patted their heads. “I can never see all the hoo-ha about television. Our phonogram is enough.” Still not a word, especially at the mention of the archaic device mostly used by the elder. “All of these brand-new technologies are interesting, and well, if it brings you boys this much pleasure, I’ll consider.”

Mugman snapped out of the trance to turn in elation. “You really mean it?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Murder!” The ecstatic mug jumped up to hug the kettle. “Cups, did you hear? We may have our very own television when we get back to Inkwell! Isn’t that neat?”

The call of lunch and a future promise of up-to-date entertainment weren’t enough to peel his eyes off the screen. A freight train could plow through the wall and he wouldn’t even flinch.

“If only he were this engaged with his schoolwork,” Elder Kettle said with another chuckle. “Should I bring some tables and chairs and move lunch in here for today?”

“I’ll eat in the kitchen. Cups’ll join us when the commercials come on.”

If said commercials were dull and had boring things to sell like grape juice and Philip Morris cigarettes, then yes, Cuphead would have happily jumped away to find something better. Six fun-filled, loud and colorful commercials, however, were only going to make him stick around and not mind the wait for Bendy and the gang. By the time a different show had started, Mugman’s nose was glued to the Sports page, Elder Kettle was clearing the table, and Cuphead had finally decided to come to the kitchen.

“Oh man, wasn’t that just the best? Mugs, you missed it! Bendy was in all sorts of disguises, and he was jumping on trains and hiding in barrels… Oh man, was he ever cool! What do you think he’s up to?”

“Hopefully eating his lunch,” Elder Kettle said, placing a sandwich and glass of milk down.

“No, I mean right at this very moment. I’ll bet he’s listening to one of Boris’s songs or smooching Alice.” Cuphead sat backwards in his chair and sighed. “Bendy’s just so interesting and cool. I wonder…”

Mugman shook his shoulder and spread the newspaper. “Check it out. He’s in the Funnies, too. Did you know he had his own comic?”

One look at the photograph of the cartoon demon and the milk in Cuphead’s mouth spat out. “He’s not just in the Funnies!”

Bendy’s smiling headshot was under a stenciled headline, _Shenanigans on Swing Street!_, settled just below a humble but exciting column.

_“Brooklyn’s own Little Devil Darlin’ is delighted to celebrate his third anniversary that brought him and his friends to life in the cartoon universe. Bendy, Boris Wolf, and Alice Angel − in company with fine entertainers Jimmy Durante, Felix the Cat, Fanny Brice, and Abbott and Costello − will be making appearances throughout the east coast (See Page 12 for more details) and wrapping up a smashing show where it all began.”_

Cuphead and Mugman reread the article a good three or four times, sharing grins and rushing to the twelfth page to read that ‘everyone would surely be there, from 10:00 a.m. to 7:30 p.m., meeting all that was welcome in Bill’s Place’. Elder Kettle had still been taking care of the dishes, so he was in for a surprise when he turned to see his boys pleading on their knees, doe-eyed and bottom lips quivering.

“Elder Kettle, please oh please won’t you take us to Bill’s Place for dinner?” Cuphead begged.

“Please Elder Kettle,” Mugman joined. “We’ll behave. We’ll eat everything on our plate. Even the beetroots!”

Both latched onto their guardian like a lost puppy and hugged him tight, chanting overlapped _pleases_ and _pretty pleases_. When saying their names and gesturing for them to be quiet didn’t work, Elder Kettle instead took the newspaper to see for himself. Cuphead and Mugman kept their angelic postures and continued to hug him as his eyes scanned the article.

“Oh dear.” The tanned pot shook his head. “I’m sorry boys. You can’t go to this.”

Mugman’s face fell, but Cuphead, ever so persistent, hopped on one of the chairs, crossed his arms, and loudly asked, “How come?”

“I can’t imagine why this is still here and why you boys haven’t—”

“Oh, come on Elder Kettle! It’s _Bendy_. Any boy in their right mind would kill to see him!”

“Cuphead, I know you’re excited but calm down and look at the—”

“Time. I know, I know. It’s only a quarter to four. Everyone would still be there for a while. It wouldn’t even be past our bedtime. Tell ’im Mugs,” Cuphead added, elbowing his brother in the stomach.

Mugman nodded, taking the newspaper and holding it up. “It’ll be alright, Elder Kettle. See? It’s not everyday you get to…” He took a closer look at the column, his eyes shrinking. “S-see Bendy, uh, see Bendy…”

Cuphead cocked a thumb out. “See? Kid’s so excited he’s speechless. This is our last day in New York. We just gotta see Bendy before we go! Back me up here Mugman,” he added once again, elbowing his stomach a second time.

“Uh, Cuphead, I-I don’t know if…”

“See? Mugman’s so distraught he can’t speak.” Cuphead jumped off the chair and hugged his guardian’s leg. “We’ll be the only ones in the world who can say we knew Bendy was here but didn’t see him. Whaddya say Elder Kettle? Grant us poor boys this once-in-a-lifetime chance to meet our favorite toon? We can’t waste a single second.”

“I think we already did,” Mugman muttered, pointing a shaky finger to the printed date by the newspaper bylines.

It was _last week’s_ paper.

“I was wondering why those riddles and baseball scores looked familiar,” Mugman tried to tease as Cuphead froze. “I, I even remember Elder Kettle telling me again and again to put it in recycling, but guess I forgot, huh?” He too climbed on one of the chairs and weakly grinned as his red-faced brother advanced him. “Gee, wasn’t that just a silly mistake of me? Getting our hopes up to meet Bendy when we could have a week ago.”

Cuphead’s glare deepened as he rolled up a sleeve. “I’m gonna bop you silly into next week!”

Mugman bolted like a bat out of hell, knocking over the chair and Cuphead the other as he ran after him, grabbing a pillow from the couch and violently swinging at his head. The battle went from the bedrooms to a brief bathroom scuffle with the shower curtains and finally back to the den, with upturned furniture and unintelligible shouting following suit.

Elder Kettle had already stepped in the middle of the room, waiting for the two to run by, and once they were within reach he yanked each one’s arm by the hook of his cane to toss them onto the couch − accompanied with a brief yet hard _smack!_ to their rear ends.

“We’ll have none of that roughhousing,” he scolded as the cup and mug rubbed their throbbing hinds. “Now Cuphead, it was an honest mistake and I understand your frustration, but it’s still fairly early in the day. There are plenty of things you two can do before we leave tonight.”

Cuphead crossed his arms. “Like what? Put Mugman in some glasses?”

Mugman scowled. “How about we find a muzzle for Mister Motormouth instead?”

“I’d like to see you try and put one on me!”

“Oh, it’ll be easy! All I have to do is—”

“_Enough_ already.” Elder Kettle gently pushed the bickering pair toward the door. “Look, maybe some fresh air will do you boys some good.” He plucked a couple items out a drawer and placed either one in Cuphead and Mugman’s open palms. “Here. You can go for a walk, head to the soda shop or toy store, anything you’d like. Just no more fighting and go do something fun.”

Cuphead eyed what he and Mugman had been given and frowned. “Hey! Why does he always get the 65-cents?”

“And why does _he_ always get the pocket lint?” Mugman asked, poking Cuphead in the chest that made him glare and shove him in the side.

“No, you do!”

Mugman shoved him right back. “No, you!”

Cuphead pushed again. “No, you!”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

“No−!”

Elder Kettle had patience, but not for another round of fighting. “_Out!_”

The brothers had to be grateful to be sent out with any money at all; whether it was two cents or two dollars, they had to work with whatever they got. Though, unsurprisingly, it was difficult to agree on what they would both buy or what they would do that afternoon when their moods were already low. The New York air was pleasantly warm and seemed to hug them as if it knew they were leaving for the ferry in the evening and hated to say goodbye.

Mugman stretched his arms toward the honey-colored sky as he and Cuphead passed various shops, making out the colorful wooden panels in their unhurried walk down the street. “So…got any ideas?” He asked, flipping one of the nickels.

Cuphead shrugged, fists in his pockets. “Nah.”

“We could stop by the park. Maybe pick up a football along the way and toss it for a while.”

“Nah.”

“Okay, what about Fifth Avenue? We could stop at 59th Street for chocolates and go to Brentano’s after.”

“Nah.”

“I’m curious. Do you know any other words besides that?”

Cuphead snatched the nickel mid-flip, clasped his arms behind his back, and leaning forward until he and Mugman were nose-to-nose, quietly enunciated, “Last. Week’s. Newspaper.”

Mugman crossed his arms. “Like Elder Kettle said, it was an honest mistake.”

Cuphead flipped the nickel in his other hand, still giving him a dirty look. “I dunno. You really had me there.”

“What’re you so sour about? We got to meet Oswald _and_ Cab Calloway, and we’ve still had a blast when we didn’t meet any other celebrities.” Mugman poked him in the chest again. “So if I hear one more word about that newspaper, I’ll drop you. Now gimme our nickel or I’ll use it to buy the baby his formula.”

Cuphead gave the coin an uninterested look before lazily smirking and stepping a few ways to the side. “Or you could buy the baby his pacifier.”

“Cuphead…”

He hovered the five cents by the open mouth of, what else, a gumball machine seated high on a shop window ledge.

“Don’t you dare.”

The coin easily slid down the slot and popped out a single red gumball, which Cuphead comically began sucking as if it were a pacifier. No sooner did he put the candy in his mouth than he decided to use his straw to spit it out through. It bonked off Mugman’s nose and straight back into his smirking mouth.

“Now I don’t know about you, but that was pretty sweet.”

“Yeah? Mind if I try?”

Mugman fished another nickel out his pocket to get a gumball and immediately took aim with his own straw at his brother’s nose, but Cuphead quickly angled the way he stood so that the candy would instead fly straight on his tongue.

“Ew! That’s disgusting!” Mugman held up another coin. “Can you do it again?”

Two boys with 65 cents and too much free time was hijinks heaven. Mugman was able to straw-spit seven gumballs into Cuphead’s mouth, stretching it out and making it look as if he had a jarring, multicolored Cheshire grin. Seeing his own reflection made Cuphead spat out all but one of the candies from laughing so hard, and while the slobbery pieces rolled further down the sidewalk and under unsuspecting toons’ feet, Mugman did his best trying to dislodge the gumball out of his brother’s throat.

One more abdominal thrust and it popped out, smashing a nearby window that got the customers inside running amok, believing the shop was under some attack. Looking at one another in silent agreement, Cuphead and Mugman nervously whistled a tune together and backpedaled down the street, making a run for it when they were away from the area.

But they weren’t about to stop there. Like Elder Kettle had told them to do, they were going to do something fun.

Musicians playing exotic pipes and foreign guitars found them rather than the other way around, creating a majestic and merry atmosphere for the crowd that had gathered throughout the hot day. Weaving through the never ending streams of traffic, the two found a spot to cool off and were able to sit on the edge of an octagonal pool that surrounded a fountain. Water sprayed many feet into the summer air from the lips of a busty mermaid, which Cuphead dared Mugman to get on his shoulders so he could kiss it. His lips were _soclose_ to the polished stone before he lost his balance and both made a great splash.

Downtown flickered silvers, greens, and black-and-yellow under the midday sunshine; some streets were made up of up-market stores with fancy glass exteriors, or the more run-down but still generous supermarkets; and no matter where the aimless journey took the brothers, the perfumed atmospheres made it all the more inviting. In moments Cuphead and Mugman were in the heart of it all, surrounded by rows of uniform skyscrapers and wide avenues draped in shiny summer colors.

A little ways down Third Avenue beside a small diner, the boys marked it as their rest spot before returning home. Cuphead leaned against the brick wall while Mugman rode on a discarded rocking horse just below the window.

“I really hate to leave this place, Cups. I don’t think we’ve ever had this much fun on summer break.”

Cuphead nodded. “Maybe next summer we can convince Brineybeard to bring us all back. Or take us someplace new.” He shrugged and gently rapped on Mugman’s head. “Y’know I can’t stay mad at you, right? I was a real pain about that whole not getting to meet Bendy thing earlier. But hey, you said it − it was an honest mistake.”

Mugman smiled and held out his hand. “So we’re pals again?”

“No more beef between us buddy!”

And just as Cuphead shook on it, a large hamburger with no business being airborne smacked his dome and sent him sprawling face-first on the sidewalk. Three voices shouted around him at once:

“Cuphead!”

“Cut the cameras and check the kid!”

“Sonny, are you okay?”

Shaking his mind of cobwebs, Cuphead glared up at the closest voice as Mugman helped him to his feet. His anger snapped to speechlessness as the body it belonged to had both gloved paws on his knees while a worried frown pulled down his freckle-dotted muzzle.

“Are you alright, sonny? That’s quite a bump. Come inside and we’ll take care of it for you.”

Speechless still, Cuphead and Mugman’s mouths thumped to the floor as Boris the Wolf ushered them inside the restaurant. A collective display of lights, microphones, people, and cameras spread out along the curved portion of the eatery. Three unique-looking toons stood off to the side, one of them chattering furiously fast with another man in nothing but loud squeaks and nervous gestures with his multiple limbs. Boris gestured to a plump woman with a Red Cross patch on her shoulder, all the while he, soon the woman, and at least five other grown-ups were asking if Cuphead was alright and if Mugman had also gotten hurt.

Neither answered or moved for that matter. They were too busy staring at Bendy, as the ink-colored imp stared back at them from behind the counter, looking confused, concerned, and curious all in one.

“I can’t believe it…” Cuphead broke into the happiest smile known to man, blindly clutching Mugman’s shirt. “Mugs, it…i-it’s Bendy!”

The rising cartoon star returned the starstruck glee with his most notable wide, toothy grin and waved.

“Oh gosh, Bendy, we’re your biggest fans!”

“The biggest!” Mugman cheerily emphasized.

“That’s Mughead and I’m Cupman. Uh, Cupmug and Headman! Uh—” Cuphead hugged Mugman close. “We’re brothers. And fans. Fans and brothers. We love your show!”

Boris gently pat the rambling boy’s shoulder and smiled. “Well, guess that answers all of our question. Any kid with energy like this to bounce back could survive even a coconut on his head. We’ll ice it just to be sure.”

Cuphead waved a hand. “Nah, don’t worry. I’ve had worse fall on me.” He turned back to Bendy. “You wouldn’t believe the day we’ve had. We got the wrong newspaper about how you were celebrating your third anniversary, but that party ended last week. We’ve pretty much just been winging it ever since Elder Kettle, that’s who watches us, said we should just go out and do something fun for our last day…”

Boris’s strange and rapid hand motions caught the brothers’ attention. “Don’t worry, I can keep up,” he oddly assured them. “Go ahead and tell him the rest.”

“What were you doing with your paws?” Mugman asked, trying to copy what had been done while Cuphead had spoken.

“Sign language. You see boys, Bendy can’t hear a word we’re saying. He’s deaf, and this is the only way we can all communicate with him.”

Cuphead and Mugman glanced at one another, shocked to hear of such a thing and feeling extremely bad for their favorite television star. Neither could imagine being unable to hear anything and having to talk without really talking. Bendy must have really had it rough not being able to hear the birds singing to him or Boris’s clarinet playing. Why, if the boys couldn’t hear the other’s voice or their precious Elder Kettle telling them he loved them, they didn’t know how they could get by.

Mugman rubbed his wrist and hesitated to ask, “Does he get upset because he can’t hear?”

“He may get blue every once in a while, but just because he can’t hear you doesn’t mean he can’t understand how much you love him,” Boris replied, moving his paws again that got Bendy smiling and nodding. “Seeing boys and girls laugh and smile makes him super happy. And he has Alice and me to help him along,” the wolf added proudly, tousling Bendy’s horned head. “So don’t you two start getting blue, either. My pal can feel what you’re saying.”

Bendy gave a thumbs up and reached across to pat the boys’ heads, his bright grin never leaving his face. He moved his hands in Boris’s direction, then pointed at the equipment behind them.

“He says he’d really love to talk with you boys, and you both seem like swell fellas, but we can’t waste any reels and have to keep the cartoon rolling. You’re more than welcome to watch, but you have to promise you’ll try and keep quiet. Is that alright?”

It was more than alright. It was a dream come true and no way were Cuphead and Mugman going to wake up and spoil it! They kept their promise to a T, only snickering once when they saw Boris’s cue outside the window to stroll by and pick up the thrown out hamburger to eat, and they were free to burst out laughing when Bendy was “chased” out of the diner by The Butcher Gang − the newest trio added to his cartoon that year. The director only wanted to get a couple more shots with the three outside, and that meant Cuphead and Mugman were free to gush and fawn over the dancing demon in private.

Boris provided the translations, and Cuphead and Mugman provided their adoration and questions − all the while the wolf taught them how to sign. Their movements weren’t as fluid, but Bendy could see they were trying. He gave the best hugs, he had the best smile when the three’s picture was taken, and he was just the best of the best that the brothers wished the day wouldn’t ever end.

But they knew deep in their hearts there were plenty more cartoons for Bendy to be in, and Inkwell Isle missed them dearly. So, as they ran along the warmth of the rising evening horizon, Cuphead and Mugman sealed the day off just like how they had first arrived to New York City:

With a great big smile.


	37. Fall into the Season {Cuphead, Mugman & Cagney}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the first day of fall on Inkwell Isle, and Cuphead and Mugman’s first day back from New York City. What better way to celebrate both with a visit to their favorite flora neighbor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in the previous chapter I said there would be two other chapters with some specific characters, but please know I’ve *really* missed writing adventures in Inkwell Isle (they’re just so much easier), and please know that Cuphead and Mugman’s New York adventure was originally just some out-of-the-blue thing I wanted to try to celebrate the summer. I didn’t want the main focus to be on all of these other amazing cartoon characters, because remember − this story is about Cuphead and his pal, Mugman.
> 
> Also, being almost four weeks into classes and teetering motivation/new story ideas, please know it’ll take more time for some of my stories to be updated as opposed to others. I want to give the very best to YOU, my readers, because this is my most long-running, popular story and I love getting feedback and nice comments and seeing I’m doing something right when I hit ‘publish chapter’. I hope you understand, I hope you’re not too cross with me, and I hope you continue to stick around.
> 
> Thank you very much, and please stay safe out there! ❤️ 💙

When the raspberries, huckleberries, and gooseberries − red, blue, cream and green − were finally ripe for picking after the late summer, Mugman could really sense the changing of the season with a steady and warm heart.

Wet, dry, cloudy or sunny was usually how the folks of Inkwell would go about describing the main four, but as newly crisp breezes pushed the clouds; streaks of sunbeams broke through from the sun; and the gold, red and brown hedges, fields, hills and moorland spread out over the first isles, it proved that that year’s fall was going to be beautiful.

Mugman breathed in the apple scented air down the road, seeing in the distance the apple orchard he and Cuphead passed by on their way to the schoolhouse. Of course they didn’t know how good they tasted, since Mac would always chase them away whenever they snuck on the land and tried picking one outside of harvesting season, but there were a couple decent apple trees in reach of the wooden post and rail fence by the school.

And all the boys had to do was rock-paper-scissors whose shoulders they would sit on and reach over, nice and quick, to share a red delicious.

Just seeing the falling leaves and cyclones of swirling colors was like eating five candy bars; Cuphead was slaphappy with energy and he just had to run. He raced ahead of Mugman, bolting up and down the paths and bridges, jumping and whooping, until he was either satisfied with making another mess of raked leaves or out of breath.

The cup was still full of energy even when his brother caught up and started picking sticks and thistles off his jacket. He sprang to his feet, lightly rapped Mugman’s head, then glanced to the side with a grin.

“Hiya, Cagney!” He called out.

His and Mugman’s boots sank in the damp soil as they approached. The garden was close and crowded with hundreds of petals, shrubbery, and trees of every rich and pastel tint, sparkling in heavy dew. Cagney Carnation never disappointed; even in autumn, his plants proudly bore the stamps of the previous spring or summer and none of their colors had faded yet.

“How’s it going, Cagney?” Mugman added, waving up at the towering flower.

Cuphead made himself comfortable on the grass. “Mugs and I just got back from New York City! Brineybeard was a real pal and invited us and Elder Kettle there for the summer.”

“Gee, look at all the colors here.” Mugman gently poked at a peony. “Your flowers look great!”

“You wouldn’t believe the folks we ran into, or the cool things we got to do. Heck, I’m still in shock we got to scat with Cab Calloway!”

“Grow any new plants lately?”

“You ever had a hot dog before?”

A leafy hand smacked over the motormouths’ pie holes. Cagney grit his teeth as the cup and mug continued on with their muffled questions and comments, getting spittle all over his fingers. He couldn’t help but notice how funny they sounded, as if they had caught a cold or were trying to mimic someone from those noisy black-and-white boxes. He wanted to find out why, but he had a feeling that once he gave it attention, the story would never end.

“Don’t you boys have school, or somewhere else you need to be?” Cagney instead asked.

“We don’t have to be there ’til nine o’clock,” Cuphead said with a shrug. “Besides, you should be thanking us. You’re the first one who’s gonna hear all about our trip.”

Mugman cleared his throat. “Uh, how about our lucky seventh? You know I had to send a letter to the Root Pack when we first docked, and then something nice over for Cala.” He rubbed the side of his head at the stare he received. “A-and, _heh_, it wouldn’t have been fair of me if Sally and Miss Lucy didn’t hear about the trip, too.”

Cuphead smacked a palm over his eye. “Alright, fine, you’re the first _flower_ we’ve told. Unless someone knows another carnation off the isles?” He added, hands on his hips, but Mugman shook his head. “Right. So, Brineybeard invited us to join him in New York City and we got to ride the Inkwell Ferry for the first time—”

“—it was really cool! We got to see all the sights, and we sailed into the New York Harbor—”

“—this huge bus, with these humongous windows, and on the street—”

“—couldn’t tell at first, but it turned out fine. We got grounded—”

“—I still think I could’ve eaten twenty-six more, but Elder Kettle—”

Cagney’s hands were back over their mouths, and the small headache that had knocked around his petals returned for another visit. He shook his head and groaned when Cuphead and Mugman, once again, were overlapping one another and trying to talk around the leaves.

Cagney hesitated to take his hands away even when the two quieted down. “Either speak one at a time or not at all. And if you choose the second option, that will actually make me smile.”

Cuphead good-naturedly smacked his stem. “Aw, someone’s a little grouchy ‘cause he missed us.”

“I missed you leaving? Yes, because I’m rooted to the ground.”

“That’s not the kind of miss I mean. It’s a real shame you’re not a fan of the city. It was murder! Everybody treated us like we were born there.”

“Did everyone sound like that?” Cagney finally got around to asking, pointing near Cuphead’s (lack of) throat.

He and Mugman shared a confused look before breaking into grins and laughing.

“Guess some of New York came with us, huh bro?” Mugman teased, nudging Cuphead’s side.

“I’ll say. You think Brineybeard would ever take us back?”

“If he did…” The mug’s eyes swirled with a far away look, already fantasizing about a fantastic summer return if possible. He snapped out of it when a memory popped to mind and shook Cuphead’s arm. “Oh! Tell him about Central Park. _Golly…_”

Cagney blinked. “A park?” In that smog-infested pigsty? He thought. Highly unlikely.

Highly unlikely that there were parks and wild spaces in a city, a chance to walk among nature or enjoy the fresh air. All of those contraptions on wheels that moved around, suffocating the soils and poisoning the air, was supposed to be liked by a garden-oriented carnation like Cagney? He was supposed to find the good in all of those people and Toons making the organic part of a dirty, overrated, and expensive city worse?

“…even got a photograph!”

Cagney scoffed and snatched the faded-color photo out of Cuphead’s hand. Immediately, one thing stood out to him: the stillness of it all. He could almost imagine the sounds of the busy metropolis being silenced. It felt surreal, like he’d been transported to another dimension. This sudden transition from a noisy and vibrant cityscape to a green park and cornflower-blue sky…

He could even see the botanical world! In the corner there were miniature sunflowers, white daisies, and purple asters born to shout loud of their graffiti-petaled beauty and looked as soft and gay as any silk.

This was a park? In the city?

“Wow,” Cagney muttered. His eyes began to water, but only because he hadn’t blinked in a while. He handed it back. “Uh, sure, it’s a nice picture. It definitely looks like a place you both would play at. I’ll bet you were just…over the moon when you got there.”

The brothers shared a second look, this one longer than the first, and turned to Cagney with either a light shrug or gentle smile.

“We were,” Mugman agreed. “Brineybeard took us there as a surprise, and boy were we! Cups and I bought a football and played for hours until lunchtime.”

“Maybe two or three times we visited after,” Cuphead remembered with a nod. “We thought about havin’ one last hurrah the day before we left, but…” He shrugged and gave a third look his brother’s way. “We couldn’t do it.”

Cagney did a double take. “What do you mean, you ‘couldn’t do it’? If it was so amazing and fun as you made it out to be, how come you didn’t just spend the night there?”

He could hear the sudden sharpness in his voice and didn’t really mean it. There was no way he felt jealous about their gushing of Central Park, and he wasn’t scolding the boys if they chose not to return for one last goodbye. He was more confused. That was like saying he absolutely loved and cherished his garden, but he didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

“Eh, it reminded us too much of you.”

Had Cagney heard right? He blinked down at the nonchalant answer from the red cup and furrowed his brows.

“Of me,” he repeated rather than asking it. He leaned his large head down and scowled. “What are you two playing at? Trying to pull the wool over my eyes?”

At their stretched out silence, Cagney still wasn’t sure if Inkwell Isle’s troublemakers were trying to kid him on something. He refused to be the butt of a joke and had more important things to attend to than fueling a silly game. But the longer Cuphead and Mugman stared with those honest eyes, the less intense Cagney’s frown became and he began to feel slightly beside himself with disappointment to assume anything less of them.

“So…you missed me?” The brothers nodded and smiled. “Hm, well I guess it was a bit too quiet during the summer. You know, not enough frogs and birds and stuff.”

Cuphead jut a thumb out. “Aw, the darling daisy _did_ miss us, Mugman!”

Before Cagney could snap or take it back, the faint sounds of a school bell chiming rose toward the sky.

“Oh, shoot! That’s for us.” Cuphead tugged Mugman’s arm and rushed off. “See ya later, Cagney!”

Mugman waved over his shoulder. “Bye Cagney! We’ll tell you more about New York after school!”

Cagney watched the pair bundle off so they wouldn’t be late and rolled his eyes. They would be coming back to bother him, rambling on and on and telling him more about New York. Well, he hoped with a slight smile, hearing more about Central Park didn’t sound all that bad.


	38. Energetic When Allergenic {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even on Inkwell Isle folks get their dose of seasonal allergies, and Cuphead and Mugman are no exception.

Many of those on the Inkwell Isles had read stories and poems about the perfect autumn day. They told of trees changing color, of ripe pumpkins and clear weather, of spooky Halloweens and delicious Thanksgivings. Infinite dreams of scarlet and gold, playfulness floating in the soft light, colors ignited for all who cared to see.

It must have been nice inside those old tales. It sounded like a cozy life.

On this particular year, the perfect autumn day for Inkwell would be needing a week or two or three to get it exactly right. Though the sun was white-hot and dazzling in the middle of the sky, it was a whole lot chillier even on the days that lacked clouds. Leaves had sloppily begun to fall faster and faster, rain was in the forecast, and the wind started to feel more like the blast one got from opening the icebox than an autumn breeze folks had been used to in the previous months.

And it wouldn’t be the cherry on top of a “perfect” year without feeling icky.

There was something so very cartoon character about sneezing. Its loud and suddenness with that comical build up deserved captions in the air above the head, as if the allergies needed announcing to all in hearing range.

Cuphead snorted around his stuffed up nose in the most unenjoyable way and pulled the blankets closer. When he sniffled again, something hit the back of his shoulder and he gave a start, flopping face-first out of bed.

“Don’t do that. It sounds gross,” Mugman mumbled underneath the covers.

Cuphead glared. “I’m sorry if my being sick is giving you an upset stomach.”

Mugman blew a raspberry that got tangled up with a cough. Whenever those came around, he said he found he felt better with the windows wide open, nice and cool, while also wrapped in his favorite sweater. Cuphead couldn’t understand him sometimes. He wanted the weather from outside to be inside their room while his nose ran faster than an aeroplane propellor, _and_ he wanted to be bundled up with all that gross snot in a scratchy sweater in bed?

“And keep your pillows to yourself.” Cuphead kicked the feathery projectile to the other side of the room. “I don’t need your germs on me.”

“But we’re both sick,” Mugman pointed out.

“Yeah, so? My germs are mine, and yours are yours. We can’t mix them up.”

“That’s dumb.”

Cuphead threw his pillow this time. “Oh, shut up.”

Mugman threw his right back. “You shut up.”

The sound of Elder Kettle’s cane alone would have told either boy to watch what he said, if nothing else had. He shook a finger in the direction of the little chatterboxes.

“Cuphead, Mugman, what have I said about using that word?”

“It’s rude to your friends and family,” both dishes stuffily droned out, with Cuphead hiding his eye roll with the palm of his glove.

“Good lads. Now”—Their cup and mug were gingerly turned this way and that, much to their rising annoyance and surprise respectively—“it looks like we’ll need a little more than just some warm compresses.”

“How sick are we? We’ll be okay though, right Elder Kettle?” Mugman asked, looking from Cuphead to their caretaker’s eyes and back.

Honestly, someone would have thought they broke their leg if they heard him fretting like that. Cuphead didn’t think it was possible to feel like a baby who couldn’t go two seconds without being coddled or having his hand held, but Elder Kettle and now Mugman were proving him oh so wrong.

“How long ’til we get better? We won’t miss a lot at school, will we? We were supposed to do reading circle today.”

Cuphead scoffed. “Only you could make yourself sicker about missing homework, you big—”

A thermometer was shoved in his mouth, cutting off whatever he planned to say as Elder Kettle patted Mugman’s arm.

“I don’t think it’s a cold, son. Just autumn allergies. You may feel funny for a few days, but we wouldn’t want anything spreading around the schoolhouse.” He took the device out of Cuphead’s mouth, checking where the red line stopped, then did the same with Mugman. “You boys will be fine. These things usually go away on their own after a while.”

“Great! I think mine just went packing. See ya later, Mugs!”

Elder Kettle didn’t have to spare any energy getting Cuphead back into bed; the boy’s sudden spinning headache after he’d shot up too fast did it for him. With a shake of the head, the kettle tucked his boys in and took his leave.

“Even if either of you do start to feel fine, we should still make sure. I’ll have the Root Pack check up on you while I head to the market for more medicine. But I don’t want to come back and be told you were running amok, understood?”

“Yes, Elder Kettle,” the pair stuffily droned again.

The very second he had shut the door and his cane had hit the first step on the way down, Cuphead tossed the covers off of him and crept over to the closet, pushing aside books, construction paper, multiple toys and clothes.

“What are you doing?” Mugman peeked over the side of the bed as the shuffling got louder. “Cup? You know we’re not supposed to be out of bed.”

“No, Elder Kettle said he didn’t want to come back and hear that we were ‘running amok’. He won’t hear anything like that if the Root Pack doesn’t see it.”

“We can’t go anywhere. We’re sick.”

“Not sick, just allergic.” A flash of white bonked off Mugman’s nose. “But not to baseball. C’mon, you remember how we were gonna go to the clearing after school to play ball?”

“Yeah, and now we can’t.”

“Not without our bat and mitt.” Cuphead finally located the small cherrywood bat and their worn out brown mitt. He held the latter out for Mugman to take. “Okay, so we won’t go to the clearing then, just out in the garden. We won’t get caught. I’ll make sure of it. Please, Mugs?”

He was still hesitant as he traced the stitches of the baseball. “Well…”

“I’ll let you be batter first.”

Blue and red coats and scarves instantly wrapped around sensitive porcelain. On the way upstream towards the deeper part of their wooded home, Cuphead and Mugman stepped on every crunchy brown, yellow and red leaf, knowing after a long rain they would be a soggy mess. The clearing turned into their own private playground with just enough distance from the cottage to run inside in case they spotted a neighbor, and with just enough space to feel like they were on a baseball field.

Cuphead aimed his arm a certain way so the ball wouldn’t get caught in the trees, and when the timing was right he tossed it over Mugman’s head and watched him swing, beam about hitting it out of the park, and snickered when he got lost in the moment and bumbled past bushes to race after it, repeatedly shouting “I got it! I got it!”

Or what he thought he was chasing after. Doubled over in laughter, Cuphead whisked the hidden baseball from behind, wiping the tears (and his nose) and hoping Mugman wouldn’t be too bent from the trick.

The sun seemed to be on fast-forward, dipping lower behind the trees, and from the small pools of shadow that circled their boots, the boys knew it was midday. Good thing, too. They had already finished seeing which of them could scale the tallest tree the fastest, which hadn’t taken long since neither one had gotten more than four feet off the ground due to a sneeze attack or watery eyes.

“Now what?” Mugman asked.

“Jacks?” Cuphead suggested.

Jacks and a game of chess under a fort, they both decided with equal glee. They soon sat beneath a large knitted blanket draped over the saggiest part of the washing-line and ‘pegged out’ with rocks, wagering corn chips for the winner and trying (but never admitting) to sabotage the other’s turn with a kick, a nudge, or poor attempt to make him laugh or sneeze.

Cuphead may have won the second ball game, but he always came up short whenever he went against Mugman in chess.

“Checkmate!” The little mug nasally boasted.

Cuphead growled to himself and cleared the board for a rematch. “Little cheat.”

“You’ll get it next time.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t be all chummy with me now.” Cuphead pushed his brother’s arm good-naturedly. “I’m gonna kick your sorry little queen’s butt.”

Mugman laughed. “Sure. You go first, but stop that whistling. It sounds weird.”

“I’m not whistling, you are.”

Both stopped to listen, sharing puzzled glances every few seconds when they couldn’t put their finger on where the notes were coming from or who was doing it. It kept getting closer and clearer, and at the last minute Cuphead and Mugman’s eyes widened. It was a regular tune Moe usually hummed whenever they’d take the long road to visit.

“What’s he doing here again? He already checked on us!” Mugman whispered-yelled in panic.

“I dunno, just put everything in here!” Cuphead whispered back, snatching the blanket and dumping the items on it.

Unsure of what to do with the pile of corn chips they’d brought out, Mugman hesitated before shoving them all in his mouth and quickly following Cuphead to their backdoor. Cuphead glanced around to make sure there was no company by the kitchen table and bolted upstairs, Mugman falling behind at the worst possible time.

Moe’s shadow appeared outside the front door and he knocked, startling him under the couch. He watched the spud hobble inside, calling out if Elder Kettle had returned yet. When he started for the stairs, allergies called for another worst possible time. Mugman felt a cough rising in his throat, but with his cheeks stuffed with corn chips, he let out a warbled sound that made Moe practically peel himself.

“What in the world! Who’s down here?” He sped around the den, sticking close to the furniture. “Better not be playin’ games with me, pal. I ain’t the potato for that.”

Mugman clapped his hands over his mouth, badly wanting to spit out the snack drying out his mouth and needing to cough again when he felt them stuck in his throat. Just when he thought he’d turn purple, something from down the hall fell, prompting Moe to shuffle in its direction. He was able to swallow both the chips and cough down and snuck upstairs.

“_Phew!_ That was a close one, huh Cup?”

But he got no response. _Oh no…_

Kicking off his boots and sneaking down the stairs two at a time, Mugman caught a flash of red fitted beside the bookcase, then on top of the logs by the fireplace, then under the writing desk. Moe was still wandering like a night watchman, looking every which way but Cuphead’s hiding spots. Mugman worried his bottom lip, thinking hard as he heard the grumpy spud cursing under his breath about mice.

From where he was standing he could catch glimpses of the kitchen again, and then he suddenly remembered how neither he nor Cuphead had closed the backdoor. It was a little risky, but he didn’t want his brother getting caught by Moe of all people. Whoever Elder Kettle trusted to watch them was the boss of them, and if they misbehaved they could be punished by them.

And Moe would never hesitate to spank them, sick or not.

Still, Mugman wasn’t going to leave Cuphead behind. Taking a deep breath, he silently hopped across the low railing and stumbled into the kitchen, kicking the door shut. He just about clipped his handle by how fast he slid under the table as Moe immediately crossed over, grumbling even louder. Mugman wasted no time crawling back into the den and dashing upstairs, Cuphead right behind him.

Once in the safe haven of their bedroom, the pair collapsed in their separate beds, laughing like madmen and high-fiving one another. Once Elder Kettle returned from the market and asked them if they were feeling any better, Cuphead and Mugman definitely knew what they would tell him:

They had some pretty close calls, but no allergies could bring them down.


	39. Lights, Camera, Adversary {Cuphead & Mugman}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a scuffle with a few cinema bullies, Cuphead and Mugman really find themselves immersed in the film they’ve been dying to see. And if they’re not careful, they just might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dish Brothers ~ 1930 ||My Cuphead Drabbles|| has turned one years old yesterday!! 🎂 🎉 ❤️ 💙 From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU very much for showing this collection so much love and attention! I’m very glad to have found the Cuphead fandom, and with so many things to keep expecting from a franchise that’s going to be turning three years old tomorrow, I’m just overjoyed how far this has come. So once again dear reader, THANK YOU!!

_Lost in the Crypts_ was the newest monster motion picture to hit the screens all the way from Cool World, and if you didn’t have the guts to sit through the first four minutes of the fantastic gore-fest, you’d never hear the end of it.

Many preferred going to the pictures to have their spirits lifted and were hardly ever found inside a movie palace with October just around the corner. They didn’t want to see creepy, crawly things go bump in the night with who-knows-what-else lurking in the shadows.

But the children did.

Not a lot were allowed to listen to programs like _Graveyard Gauntlets_ after dark or watch the cartoon specials that were ‘dangerous’, ‘deadly’ and ‘gunked up with ghosts’. Since most families lived on the first isles, going to the pictures was a special occasion for the whole household that they had to agree on.

Some time back in the 1920s when it was rumored there would be an exciting or scary picture, the kids would gather together behind the schoolhouse with the Entertainment page newspaper to see what would be playing next and all meet before the film began. And now that Cuphead and Mugman were old enough to participate in the speakeasy for the pictures that year…

“They say this is gonna be one gripping yarn! Way better than last’s.”

“I hear a lotta people get eaten by a monster.”

“It’ll play right at nine o’clock, so I think if we all start heading down the road by—”

“Nine o’clock?” All heads turned toward Mugman’s interruption. He turned to look at Cuphead, wide-eyed and confused. “Isn’t that past our bedtime?”

Cuphead smacked a hand over his mouth too little, too late.

“Forgot sippy cups have to be in bed and have their warm milk early,” Wally Warbles’ fowl afoul of a son, Willy Warbles, snickered.

“Please, we’re off that stuff.” Cuphead cringed when the group laughed louder. “I mean, what do you take us for? A pair of boobs? There’s no way we’re missing _Lost in the Crypts_.”

“But Cuphead—”

“As a matter of fact, Mugs and I’ll be the first in line with the best seats in the house − right in the front.”

Cuphead smirked and crossed his arms at the glances and murmurings around the circle. A boy could brag and boast all he wanted about sitting in the very front of a horror film, but if he sat through the first minute mark without running for the hills, he was untouchable.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Mugman whispered.

Cuphead narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“We can’t go to the movies. It’s a school night.”

“So?”

“So what would we tell Elder Kettle? He’d say no in a heartbeat.”

Cuphead dragged his palm down his face, shaking his head. “We wouldn’t tell him anything, Mugs. That’s the point of sneaking out.”

Mugman looked a bit surprised at the suggestion. “Sneaking out?”

“Sure. We’ve done it before, remember? Remember the cave and staying there all of midnight?”

“I don’t think it was that late.”

“We still snuck out. Heck, we’ve ridden the rides at Coney Island without Elder Kettle, we’ve camped in our backyard lots of times when he was asleep, and we walked the streets of New York just fine all by ourselves. I’d say we’re pretty grown-up by now.”

Cuphead grinned at the idea of sneaking out for a real scream in the city.

“C’mon Mugs, this is _Lost in the Crypts_ we’re talking about! Monsters, chills, danger around every corner! Who knows when they’ll ever show it again on Inkwell?”

“Oh-ho! Don’t tell me. The little mug’s afraid to see it!” Willy squawked.

“I am not!” But Mugman’s face and voice were rigid with tension.

“The sippy cup doesn’t want to see the monsters. He’s afraid he’ll run home and hide under the covers to suck his thumb.”

“Hey, watch it,” Cuphead warned, already prepared to clobber him. “Only I’m allowed to call my brother a sippy cup. And the last time I checked, you were no bird of the hour, either. Weren’t you the same chicken that flew home crying ’cause you thought you were under attack by spiders when it was just a gang of leaves that fell on your head?”

Willy ruffled his wings and scowled at the laughter going against him. “Well, which is it?” He snappily changed the subject. “You two gonna go home finger painting with the kettle all night? Or are you watching the greatest movie of all time with us?”

The cup brothers exchanged wondering looks, whispering to one another what he thought before a compromise was reached and sealed with a good natured handshake.

“We’re going,” they declared together.

“And just to make it a bit more interesting,” Cuphead added with a grin, “I bet we’d last the whole movie without getting scared once.”

“Okay then,” Willy challenged. “You jokes sit through the whole thing without running away, and my whole allowance is yours. But if you lose, you gotta shout how you’re scaredy-cats right in front of the class tomorrow.”

“Same wager here, pal. It’s a bet.”

The outdoors definitely saw a lot more of Cuphead and Mugman, straight into a game of football at the schoolhouse and back outside in their backyard until dinnertime − when they were too pooped to move after the tables were clear and decided to hit the hay early for once.

“Don’t get used to it,” Cuphead teased, yawning in his hand.

Mugman waved over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Elder Kettle.”

Really they’d been out counting how much they could split for snacks and seeing how long it would take to sneak back. The pair changed from their pajamas into their pants-shirt-coat ensemble and shoved a couple items under their blankets in case they were checked up on late in the night. As soon as they heard the sweet murmur of the phonograph downstairs, their old rope ladder was out the side of their window and soon so were they.

Everything in Inkwell Isle Three was alive with brilliance, like someone had taken a bed of crystals and glitter and thrown it around. Tons of kids and teenagers were taking over the city and heading up the winding drive, which led directly to the heart of a colossal structure. The RnG Theater loomed proudly behind creaky iron gates specially made for a spooky theme, flanked by rows of plastic skeletal trees crowned in crimson and snack carts showered in black streamers, swaying gently in the chilly autumn wind.

Cuphead and Mugman recognized a few kids from the schoolhouse at the ticket box, but none of them quite stood out like Willy. He had to have at least seven layers of clothing on and waddled anytime the line shifted. When he spotted the cup and mug, he waved them over.

“Well, well, well, thought you sissies would be under the bed hiding from the Bogeyman by this time,” Willy taunted with a smirk.

Cuphead rolled his eyes. “We had to wait until the phonograph was on. Elder Kettle usually goes to bed after his records.”

“Why are you wearing so much? Are you really that cold?” Mugman asked, taking in the many colors on the bird.

“Don’t you know how much concessions are? I’m not spending another nickel on anything.” Willy glanced around before lifting one of his wings, revealing a package of licorice and some chewing gum. “I raided the candy cabinet at home and brought my own. Take one if you want.”

Cuphead was honestly expecting something to pop out of Willy’s coat or snap at his fingers, so he was genuinely surprised when he and Mugman wound up with a free thing of peanuts and Jujyfruits. They did wind up buying a thing of popcorn to share from one of the vendor’s carts, and while technically not being the first inside after paying 25¢ for their tickets, they were able to find seats in the second row up front. Both were buzzing and filled to the brim with anticipation.

“Ooh, I just can’t stand the wait! Can you believe it, Mugs? We’re gonna be the first ones to see _Lost in the Crypts_, and these are the top seats in the house.”

“I didn’t think this movie would be so popular. I still can’t believe we made it in time.”

“Believe it pal.” Cuphead propped his feet up on the empty chair in front of him, snapping his fingers. “Now let the show begin!”

A trio of acne-ridden weasels abruptly plopped into the seats in front of them, blocking the view with their ridiculously long necks and towering mountain of movie snacks. Cuphead and Mugman looked at one another in disbelief.

“Hey! Down in front!” Cuphead exclaimed.

A flood of popcorn and gobstoppers were pelted at them. “Shaddup in back!”

Mugman hesitantly glanced at the seething cup and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s just move down.”

“No way. It’s called common courtesy. I’ll handle these chumps.” Cuphead hopped over the chairs, standing steadfast in front of the three pests. “Say pals, my brother and I are trying to watch this picture like everyone else, and we can’t do that if your necks are in the way.”

“Tough kid. We ain’t movin’,” the one in the center snapped.

“Yes, you are.”

The one with slighter bigger fangs stood up. “Says who?”

“Now, now guys, we don’t gotta fight here.” The third one nodded towards one of the theater doors. “We can take this somewhere else.”

Cuphead cocked a thumb at the more civilized one and told Mugman to stay put, but then he felt two of the weasels grab at his arms and snatch him off the ground. He started kicking when the third grabbed at Mugman and tried to bite and wriggle out of the restraint as the three ran the pair down a long and dark corridor.

“Why’re ya stupid squirts fightin’ us so hard? Haven’t ya always wanted to be in the pictures?” The room led to an unattended projector counting down from ten. “We’re gonna make ya stars!”

Cuphead and Mugman weren’t sure what the jerks were hoping to accomplish when they heaved them onto the motion picture display, but since the film and projector were loaned properties of Cool World, its surrealism was stronger than ever. The boys were contorted and pressed like they were developing film into the processor, and within seconds they were dropped smack dab in the middle of an enormous puddle.

“Oh, great… Just great!” Cuphead grumbled, standing and wringing his coat out. “When I get my hands on those blimps, they’re gonna wish they never messed with the wrong cup—” He stumbled over weeds that had broken through the floorboards. “_Sheesh!_ What kind of theater is this?”

“No theater, c-c-crypt,” Mugman stuttered, shakily pointing forward.

Animal skulls were shelved in wooden racks, left behind to be trusted with the damp refrigeration of the soil behind the dense stone walls. There were brackets for wax-less and droopy candles every which way, and a musty smell fogged the dark room − save for a single bare candelabra dangling from the ceiling where water was seeping in.

Cuphead gave the room a pinched look before shrugging. “Eh, decent decorations for the premier. Come on, let’s get back to it. And beat the crud outta some weasels while we’re at it,” he added bitterly.

The longer they walked, the thicker the walls became. Close to the low ceiling, just under the rotting beams that suspended the floor above, were yawning thresholds to different rooms mostly covered in dirt. From way outside a storm could be heard in the distance, echoing through the silent night. The floor moaned with age with every step, and an uneasy breeze blew down the corridor, making Mugman jump and cling onto Cuphead.

“Mugs, will you quit being a baby?”

“You don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“The impending doom, the creepy-crawlies all over your arms and legs…” Mugman shuddered and swore he saw a three-headed shadow pass. “The monsters, chills, danger around every corner!”

“There’s nothing here but cheap plastic and phony costumes. Look”—Cuphead kicked over a thing of skulls—“plastic.”

“P-plastic doesn’t crack.”

“Ceramic, then. Come on.”

The skulls glared after the retreating boots and slid the scattered pieces into one large jaw, something Mugman never thought he would ever witness in real life or in a movie. He jumped in harm’s way and took quite a chomp to the nose in Cuphead’s place, the blue circle nearly swelling to the size of a baby yam. He angrily swung his fist out, scattering the bones once more.

The curving halls eventually led to a narrow flight of stairs up to who-knows-where. Cuphead stopped by one of several indents in the walls, feeling around for a candle with a sturdy wick. At every sound Mugman’s head whipped this way and that, and even when there wasn’t any noise, he was still on red alert.

“You know, this sort of looks like the one room from the posters. Y-you don’t think we’re actually…” He gulped and rubbed his throbbing nose. “Find a light yet?”

“Gimme a minute. I’m working on it.”

“It’s weird. Isn’t this where that big tomb’s supposed to be? Right in the middle of the room?”

Cuphead shrugged. “Maybe they moved it.”

“Yeah, that’s it! They moved it to the dump since it was too big, and too scary, and way too…”

The paint-crumbling lid of the very-present tomb that had been shrouded in darkness all along creaked open. One moment Mugman was on his feet, failing to convince himself he hadn’t heard what he’d just heard, the next he was tussling in a square grave with something wrapped in bandages − all the while Cuphead went “nope, nah, uh-uh” while tossing defect candles over his shoulder.

He gave up after the seventh one and struggled to take an unlit torch off the wall, wondering how in the world he was going to light it. A miniature hellfire spurt out of the opened tomb in time to Mugman hurtling out and slamming the lid shut, heart shaking harder than his legs. The flames had caught to the torch, illuminating a small circle around, and Cuphead grinned.

“Gee, what luck! Alright, let’s see where these stairs lead.”

“Right…behind you. Very behind you.”

There was torn paint, broken shelves, and dust everywhere Cuphead and Mugman looked after they ascended. Some chairs were without legs and cabinets without doors, eerily looking like gaps in the walls. Thunder crunched and popped like a bright red apple outside, and a shiver ran through Mugman’s body as Cuphead eagerly explored.

“Cuphead, can we get out of here any faster?” The mug’s reflection in the window blew a silent raspberry at his back and made a slashing motion where his throat ought to be. “It feels like somebody’s watching us.”

“What are you, afraid?” Cuphead challenged, missing thirteen beady eyes blink up at him after he’d taken a book from a hollow bookcase.

“Well, let’s put it this way. If you see a pair of pants go flyin’ through the air, don’t grab ’em.”

“Why?”

“I’ll be in ’em!”

Something tugged his handle before Mugman had the chance to run, and he was thrown onto one of the chairs in the corner. One armrest hugged his waist, keeping him still, while the other jammed itself in his mouth. Cuphead leafed through the pages of his book, oblivious to the soft thuds of a chair hopping away with his brother and to a set of transparent, gnarled fingers emerging through the wall, inches away from popping his head off. Mugman kicked the underwood of the chair, making it screech like a wounded dog, and fired a peashot at the intruder’s hand.

“_Mugman!_ Are you nuts? You could’ve killed me!”

“_I_ could’ve killed _you_? That’s it! We’re outta here!”

Mugman grabbed Cuphead’s hand, half-dragging and half-running with him downstairs, and in his haste Cuphead had dropped the torch.

“Mugs, will you cool it already? You’re overreacting!”

“And you’ve been under-reacting! I’m not staying here another minute if it means being almost burned, eaten, or taken alive!”

“Burned? Eaten? Okay, you’ve lost it here.”

“I’m not staying and searching for it here. Call me a chicken, a sippy cup, a no-good yellow—” Mugman screeched to a halt, causing Cuphead to crash on his rear. “Yellow…red…red-hot…”

The flame from the torch had seeped through from the room above, transformed into a tiny hourglass cutie, ember curls long and hips wide. She blew a kiss with her sensuous lips, flickering sparks over her slip-clad figure and accurate etches of the outlines of her derrière as she strut forward. She leaned down to the flushed cup and mug’s height, and in the blink of an eye erupted into an enraged inferno, hissing like a great hungry serpent.

A ghastly blue-white silhouette phased through the walls, the same ghoul that had tried nabbing Cuphead earlier. A rattle of skulls and the moans from the mummy-like creature echoed down from either sides of the halls, and a spider expertly hidden in the shadows dropped down, blinking seven eyes at Cuphead and six eyes at Mugman. At their simultaneous, monotonous ‘boo’, the boys booked it up and down, back and forth, anywhere and everywhere in the crypt.

“I’m never coming to see this movie again!”

“Don’t blame yourself, Mugs, this was all my fault!”

“You’re right − this _was_ all your fault!”

Something whizzed by in an inky blur, and the boys weren’t heading for freedom, but for the gaping maw of a hidden, seven-legged, terrifying—

_Fin._

Cuphead cracked open one eye, then the other. He remained absolutely still and kept hugging onto Mugman as the whirs of the movie projector gave one final encore before clicking off and shrouding the theater in darkness. Some kids were clapping, some were sniffing, some were asking what happened.

“Mugs…Mugman. We’re alive. I think we’re alive.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. We made it. _Heh-heh_, we made it little bro!” Cuphead hugged him tight. “We did it! We survived _Lost in the Crypts_!”

Mugman gave a sigh of relief and carefully stood up. “Oh gosh, that sure was scary. My legs are still shaking. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I’ll say! Man, what a picture. What an ending. What a lady.”

“Didn’t she try to kill us?”

“I’m willing to look over the minor details. But wow, _Lost in the Crypts_…” Cuphead grinned, gripping the rim of his dish. “I can’t get it out of my mind! Ever corner and turn, every up and down, wowie! I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

“You could say that again,” Mugman muttered.

Cuphead slung an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, at least you proved tonight you’re not a scaredy-cat. You had guts.”

“I still feel bad.”

“Really? Was it that scary for you? Need me to sleep in your bed again?”

“Huh? Oh no, not that kind of bad. I meant I feel bad for Willy.”

He pointed to a corner where five kids were gathered around a cowering and shaking bird, patting his wings and asking if he needed them to sneak him back home. Cuphead and Mugman couldn’t help snickering to themselves and fearlessly made their way across the isles, arm in arm.

Scary movies weren’t for everyone, but they sure got a scream out of this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually a mini-story in the Cuphead comic book, “Comic Capers & Curios”, only instead of Mugman it was oddly Elder Kettle attending the scary movie with Cuphead, and the bullies, again oddly, were The Root Pack. The rest of what played out was pretty funny but a little too short in my opinion, so I decided to stretch it out and put my own spin for a pre-Halloween twist on it. Hope you enjoy! 🎃


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